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IN MANILA BAY 




COMIN' THRO' THE RYE 



NEW CENTURY 

SPEAKER AND WRITER 

BEINQ 

A Standard Work on Composition 
and Oratory 

CONTAINING 

RULES FOR EXPRESSING WRITTEN THOUGHT IN A CORRECT AND ELEGANT 

MANNER ; MODEL SELECTIONS FROM THE MOST FAMOUS AUTHORS ; 

SUBJECTS FOR COMPOSITIONS AND HOW TO TREAT THEM ; USE 

OF ILLUSTRATIONS ; DESCRIPTIVE, PATHETIC AND 

HUMOROUS WRITINGS, ETC., ETC. 

TOGETHER WITH A 

PEERLESS Collection of Readings and Recitations, 

Including Programmes for Special 

Occasions 

FROM AUTHORS OF WORLD-WIDE RENOWN, FOR PUBLIC SCHOOLS, ACAD- 

EMIES, COLLEGES, LODGES, SUNDAY-SCHOOL AND 

SOCIAL ENTERTAINMENTS 

THE WHOLE FORMING AN 

UNRIVALED SELF-EDUCATOR FOR YOUNG PEOPLE 

BY Henry Davenport Northrop 

Author of" Delsarte Manual of Oratory," "Golden Gleanings of Poetry, Prose and Song," etc, etc. 



Embellished with a Galaxy of Charming Engravings 



NATIONAL PUBLISHING CO. 

239, 241, 243 South American St. 
Philadelphia 



THE LIBRARY OF 

OONGRESS, 
Two C0H1E8 Receivcb 

DEC. 28 1901 

COFVWIOHT ENTRY 
CLASS^ iJL.XXc NO. 

ooPY a 






y? 



^^v\ 



ENTERED ACCORDING TO ACT OF CONGRESS, IN THE YEAR 1901, BY 

D. Z. HOWELL 

N THE OFFICE OF THE LIbRARIAN OF CONGRESS, \T WASHINGTON, D. C, v. 



Preface. 

MILLIONS of young people in America are being educated, and hence 
there is a very great demand for a Standard Work showing how to 
express written thought in the most elegant manner and how to 
read and recite in a way that insures the greatest success. To meet this 
enormous demand is the aim of this volume. 

Part I. — How to Write a Composition. — The treatment of this subject is 
masterly and thorough, and is so fascinating that the study becomes a delight. 
Rules and examples are furnished for the right choice of words, for constructing 
sentences, for punctuation, for acquiring an elegant style of composition, for 
writing essays and letters, what authors should be read, etc. The directions 
given are all right to the point and are easily put into practice. 

The work contains a complete list of synonyms, or words of similar meaning, 
and more than 500 choice subjects for compositions, which are admirably suited 
to persons of all ages. These are followed by a charming collection of Master- 
pieces of Composition by such world-renowned authors as Emerson, Hawthorne, 
George Eliot, Lord Macaulay, Washington Irving, C. H. Spurgeon, Sarah J. 
Lippincott, Mrs. Stowe and many others. 

These grand specimens of composition bear the stamp of the most brilliant 
genius. They are very suggestive and helpful. They inspire the reader to the 
noblest efforts, and teach the truth of Bulwer Lytton's well-known saying that 
**The pen is mightier than the sword." 

Part II. — Readings and Recitations. — The second part of this incompar- 
able work is no less valuable, and a candid perusal will convince you that it con- 
tains the largest and best collection of recitations ever brought together in one 
volume. These are of every variety and description. Be careful to notice that 
every one of these selections, which are from the writings of the world's best 
authors, is especially adapted for reading and reciting. This is something which 
cannot be said of any similar work. 

All the Typical Gestures used in Reciting are shown by choice engravings, 
and the reader has in reality the best kind of teacher right before him. The dif- 
ferent attitudes, facial expressions and gestures are both instructive and charm- 
ing. These are followed by Recitations with Lesson Talks. Full directions are 
given for reciting the various pieces, and this is done by taking each paragraph 
or verse of the selection and pointing out the gestures, tone of voice, emphasis, 
etc., required to render it most effectively. The Lesson Talks render most valu- 
able service to all who are studying the grand art of oratory. 

The next section of this masterly volume contain.s Recitations with Music. 



,V PREFACE. 

This is a choice collection of readings which are rendered most eficictive by 
accompaniments of music, enabling the reader by the use of the voice or SG-Tie 
musical instrument to entrance his audience 

These charming selections are followed by a superb collection of Patriotic 
Recitations wliicli celebrate the grand victories of our army and navy in the 
Philippines and West Indies. These incomparable pieces are all aglow with 
patriotic fervor and are eagerly sought by all elocutionists. 

There is space here only to mention the different parts of this delightful 
volume, such as Descriptive and Dramatic Recitations; Orations by Famous 
Orators ; a peerless collection of Humorous and Pathetic Recitations, and Reci- 
tations for Children and Sunday Schools. 

Parents are charmed with this volume because it furnishes whav the little 
folks want and is a self-educator for the young. It marks a new era in book 
publishing. 

Par r III. — Programmes for Special Occasions.— These have been prepared 
with the greatest care in order to meet a very urgent demand. The work con- 
tains Programmes for Fourth of July ; Christmas Entertainments ; Washington's 
Birthday; Decoradon Day ; Thanksgiving Day ; Arbor Day ; Public School and 
Parlor Entertainments ; Harvest Home ; Flower Day, etc. Beautiful Selecdons 
for Special Occasions are contained in no other work, and these alone injure 
this very attractive volume an enormous sale. 

Dialogues, Tableaux, etc. — Added to the Rich Contents already described 
is a Charming Collection of Dialogues and Tableaux for public and private en- 
tertainments. These are humorous, pithy, teach important lessons and are 
thoroughly enjoyed by everybody. 

In many places the winter lyceum is an institution ; we find it not only in 
acadcmi(*s, and noi mal schools, but very frequently the people in a district 
or town organize a debating society and discuss the popular questions of the day. 
The benefit thus der ved cannot be estimated. In the last part of this volume 
will be found by-law^ for those who wish to conduct lyceums, together with a 
choice selection of subjects for debate. 

Tluis it is seen th.t this is a very comprehensive work. Not only is it care- 
fiilly prepared, not onl} does it set a very high standard of excellence in compo, 
sition and elocution, bui it is a work peculiarly fitted to the wants of millions oi 
young people throu^hoi t our country. The writer of this is free to say that such 
a work as this would ha e been of inestimable value to him while obtaining an 
(education. All wise pan nts who wish to make the best provision for educating 
thf-ir children should understand that they have in this volume such a teacher in 
composition and oratory as has never before been offered to the public, 



CONTENTS. 

PART I.— HOW TO WRITE A COMPOSITION. 



Treatment of the Subject . 18 

Right Choice of Words 19 

Obscure Sentences 19 

Write Exactly what You Mean 20 

What You Should Read 21 

Our Great Writers 21 

Learning to Think 22 

How to Acquire a Captivating Style, 23 

Make Your Composition Attractive 24 

The Choice of Ivanguage 25 

Faults in Writing 26 

Putting Words into Sentences 27 

Suit the Word to the Thought 28 

||An Amusing Kxercise 29 

Jrrors to be Avoided 30 

Exercises in Composition 32 

)ubject and Predicate 32 

[Practice in Simple Sentences w . . . 34 

Sentences Combined 36 

Punctuation ; 39 

'The Full Stop 39 

I The Note of Interrogation 40 

' The Comma 40 

The Semicolon 42 

Quotation Marks 43 

The Note of Bxclamation , 

Bxercises in Easy Narratives 

Bhort Stories to be Written from Memory . . 
Outlines to be Turned into Narratives .... 
Stories in Verse to be Turned into Prose . . , 



. 43 

. 46 

. 47 

. 50 

. 61 

three Fishers Went Sailing 51 



PAGE 

The Sands of Dee 52 

The Way to Win 52 

Press On 52 

The Dying Warrior 52 

The Boy that Ivaughs 53 

The Cat's Bath o . . . . . 53 

The Beggar Man „ 53 

The Shower Bath 54 

Queen Mary's Return to Scotland 54 

The Kagle and Serpent 54 

Ask and Have 55 

What Was His Creed.? 55 

The Old Reaper 55 

The Gallant Sailboat 55 

Wooing 56 

Miss Ivaugh and Miss Fret . . . . , 56 

Monterey , 56 

A Woman's Watch . . . . o 57 

Love Lightens Labor . . . , , 57 

Abou Ben Adhem 57 

Essays to be Written from Outlines 58 

Easy Subjects for Compositions 61 

Use of Illustrations 62 

Examples of Apt Illustrations 63 

Examples of Faulty Illustrations 63 



How to Compose and Write Letters . 

Examples of Letters 

Notes of Invitation 

Letters of Congratulation 

Love Letters . 

Outlines to be Expanded into Letters 



64 
65 
65 

66 



SPECIMENS OF ELEGANT COMPOSITION. 



Getting the Right start . ... . J. G. Holland 67 

Dinah, the Methodist ...... George Eliot 69 

[Godfrey and Dunstan George Eliot 70 

jRip Van Winkle Washhigton Irving 72 

[Puritans of the Sixteenth Century Lord Macaulay 73 

)n being in Time C.H. Spurgeon 75 



John Ploughman's Talk oh Home C. H. Spurgeon 
Pearl and her Mother . Nathaniel Hawthorne 
Can dace's Opinions ..... Mrs. H. B. Stowe 
Midsummer in the Valley of the Rhine 

Geo. Meredith 
Power of Natural Beauty . . . R. W. Emerson 



78 
80 

8t 

82 



SUBJECTS FOR COMPOSITIONS. 



Historical Subjects 84 

Biographical Subjects 85 

I Subjects for Narration and Description .... 86 

y. Popular Proverbs 87 

Subjects to be Expounded 87 



Subjects for Argument . . , 89 

Subjects for Comparison 89 

Miscellaneous Subjects 90 

Synonyms and Antonyms e 91 

Noms de Plume of Authors 113 

V 



CONTENTS. 



PART II.— READINGS AND RECITATIONS. 



PAGE 

How to Read and Recite 313 

Cultivation of the Voice 113 

Distinct Kuuuciatiou 113 

ICmphasis 11^ 

Pauses 114 

Gestures 114 

The Magnetic Speaker 114 

Self-Coumiand 114 

Typical Gestures for Reading and Reciting . . 115 

Malediction 115 

Designating • • • 115 



Silt 



115 



Repulsion 115 

Declaring 116 

.Announcing 116 

Discerning 116 

Invocation 117 

Presenting or Receiving 117 

Horror 117 



Exaltation 117 

Secrecy . 117 

Wonderment 118 

Indecision 118 

Grief 118 

Gladness 118 

Signalling 119 

Tender Rejection 119 

Protecting— Soothing 119 

Anguish 119 

Awe— Appeal 120 

Meditation 120 

Defiance 120 

Denying — Rejecting 120 

Dispersion 121 

Remorse 121 

Accusation 121 

Revealing « . . 121 

Correct Positions of the Hands ........ 122 



RECITATIONS WITH LESSON TALKS, 



Song of Our Soldiers at Santiago . . D.G. Adee. 123 

Lesson Talk 123 

The Victor of Marengo 124 

Lesson Talk 125 

The Wedding Fee 125 



Lesson Talk - 126 

The Statue in Clay 127 

Lesson Talk ................. 127 

The Puzzled Boy 128 

Lesson Talk o o , . 128 



RECITATIONS WITH MUSIC. 



Twickenham Ferry 129 

Grandmother's Chair John Read 130 

Put Your Shoulder to the Wheel . . H. Clifton 131 
A Brighter Day is Coming . . Ellen Burnside 132 



Katie's Love Letter Lady Dufferin 132 

Dost Thou Love Me, Sister Ruth ? . John Parry 133 

Two Little Rogues Mrs, A. M. Diaz 134 

Arkansaw Pete's Adventure 135 



PATRIOTIC RECITATIONS. 



The Beat of the Drum at Daybreak 

Michae 

The Cavalry Charge 

Great Naval Battle at Santiago 

Admiral IV. S.Schley 

Hobson's Daring Deed 

General Wheeler at Santiago . . ./, L. Gordon 
The Flag Goes By 



O'Connor 137 
137 



138 
139 
140 
140 



In Manila Hay Chas. Wadsworlh, Jr. 141 

My Soldier IJoy 142 

The Yankees in Battle . Captain R. D. Evans 142 

The Banner Betsey Made . . , T. C. Harbaugh 143 

Our Hag . . Chas. F. Aisop 144 

That Starry Flag of Ours 144 

The ?\'fgro Soldier B. 1\T. ChaJUi.ng 145 

Deeds of Valor at Santiago . . Clinton Scollard 145 



146 



A Race for Dear Life 

Patriotism of American Women 

T. BHi:hanan Read 147 

Our Country's Call RuJmrd Barry 147 

The Story of Seventy-Six ... V^.C Bryant 148 

The Roll Call 143 

The Battle-Field W. C^ Bryant 149 

The Sinking of the Meri'\ ac ....<.... 150 

The Stars and Stripes 151 

Rodney's Ride 152 

A Spool of Thread .... Sophia E. Eastman 153 
The Young Patriot, Abraham Lincoln ..... 154 

Columbia Joel Barlow 15.5 

Captain Molly at Monmouth William Collins 156 
Douglas to the Populace of Stirling 

Sir Walter ScoU 157 



CONTENTS. 



Vll 



Our Country IV. G. Peabodie 157 

Mcllrath of Malate John J. Rooney 158 

After the Battle 159 

Great Naval Battle of Manila 160 

Sinking of the Ships W. B. Collison 161 



PAGB 

Perry's Celebrated Victory on Lake Erie . . . 163 

Capture of Quebec James D. McCahe 164 

Little Jean Lillie E. Barr 165 

Defeat of General Braddock .James D. McCabe 166 



DESCRIPTIVE AND DRAMATIC RECITATIONS. 



Quick ! Man the Life Boat 167 

Beautiful Hands /. Whitcomb Riley 167 

The Burning Ship 168 

The Unknown Speaker . 169 

Child Lost 171 

The Captain and the Fireman . . W. B. Collison 172 
The Face on the Floor . . . H. Antoine D'Arcy- 173 

The Engineer's Story Eugene J. Hall 174 

Jim James Whitcomb Riley 175 

Queen Vashti's Lament John Reade 176 

The Skeleton's Story 177 

The Lady and the Earl 179 

My Vesper Song 180 

The Volunteer Organist ... . . . S. W. Poss 180 

Comin' thro' the Rye Robert Burns 181 

Joan of Arc Clare S. McKi?i ley 181 

The Vulture of the Alps 183 

The Old-fashioned Girl Tom Hall 184 

Nathan Hale, the Martyr Spy . . . I. H. Brown 184 

The Future Rudyard Kipling 186 

The Power of Habit John B. Cough 186 



Died on Duty .187 

My Friend the Cricket and I . , Lillie E. Barr 188 

The Snowstorm , . . . . 188 

Parrhasius and the Captive . . . . N. P. Willis 189 

The Ninety-third off Cape Verde 190 

A Felon's Cell 191 

The Battle of Waterloo Victor Hugo 192 

A Pin ... Ella Wheeler Wilcox 194 

A Relenting Mob Lucy H. Hooper 195 

The Black Horse and His Rider . Chas. Sheppard 196 

The Unfinished Letter 198 

Legend of the Organ Builder . Julius C. R. Dorr 198 
Caught in the Quicksand . . , Victor Hugo 200 

The Little Quaker Sinner . Lucy L. Mofttgornery 201 

The Tell-tale Heart Edgar Allan Poe 202 

The Little Match Girl Hans Andersen 203 

The Monk's Vision .„ ... 205 

The Boat Race . 205 

Phillips of Pelhamville . . Alexander Anderson 207 
Poor Little Jim 208 



ORATIONS BY FAMOUS ORATORS, 



True Moral Courage Henry Clay 209 

The Struggle for Liberty .... Josiah Quincy 210 
Centennial Oration . . . Henry Armitt Brown 211 
Speech of Shrewsbury before Queen Elizabeth 

F. Von Schiller 212 
Prospects of the Republic . . . Edward Everett 212 
The People Always Conquer , . Edward Everett 213 
Survivors of Bunker Hill . . . Daniel Webster 214 
South Carolina and Massachusetts 

Daniel Webster 215 
Euiogium on South Carolina . Robert T. Hayne 216 
Character of Washington . . . Wendell Phillips 217 



National Monument to Washington 

Robert C. Winthrop 218 

The JsTew Woman Frances E. Willard 219 

An Appeal for Liberty ...... Joseph Story 220 

True Source of Freedom . . Edwin H. Chapin 220 
Appeal to Young Men .... Lyma?i Beecher 221 

The Pilgrims Chauncey M. Depew 222 

Patriotism a Reality .... Thomas Meagher 223 

The Glory of Athens Lord Macaulay 224 

The Irish Church . . . William E. Gladstone 225 
Appeal to the Hungarians . . . Louis Kossuth 226 
The Tyrant Verres Denounced ..... Cicero 227 



HUMOROUS RECITATIONS. 



Bill's in Trouble 229 

"Spaciallyjim" 229 

The Marriage Ceremony 230 

Blasted Hopes 230 

Tim Murphy Makes a Few Remarks 231 

Passing of the Horse 231 

A School-Pay W, F. McSparran 232 

tiae Bicycle and the Pup 233 



The Puzzled Census Taker 233 

It Made a Difference 233 

Bridget O'Flannagan on Christian Scieace and 

Cockroaches M. Bourchier 234 

Conversational 235 

Wanted, A Minister's Wife 235 

How a Married Man Sews on a Button 

/. M. Bailey 236 



viu 



CONTENTS. 



The Dutchman's Serenade . . . 

Biddj-'s Tronbles 

The Inventor's Wife .... Mrs. 
Miss Edith Helps Things Along . 



PAGE 

236 

237 

E. T. Corbctt 238 
. Bret Harte 239 



The Man Who Has All Diseases at Once 

Dr. Valentine 240 
The School-Ma'am's Courting . . Florence Pyatt 240 

The Dutchman's Snake 241 

No Kiss 243 

The Lisping Lover 243 

Larry O'Dee W. W. Fink 243 

How Paderewski Plays the Piano 244 

The Freckled-Faced Girl 244 

When Girls W^ore Calico . . . Hattie Whitney 245 

A Winning Company 246 

The Bravest Sailor . . Ella Wheeler Wilcox 246 

How She Was Consoled 247 

That Hired Girl . 247 

What Sambo Says 248 

The Irish Sleigh Ride ....,., 248 

Jane Jones . . . Ben King 249 

De Ole Plantation Mule 249 

Adam Never Was a Boy .... T. C. Harbaugh 250 



A Remarkable Case of S'posin ........ 251 

My Parrot Emma H. Webb 262 

Bakin and Greens 252 

Hunting a Mouse Joshua Jenkins 253 

The Village Sewing Society , 254 

Signs and Omens 255 

The Ghost 255 

A Big Mistake 256 

The Duel Eugene Field 258 

Playing Jokes on a Guide . . . Mark Twai7i 258 

A Parody 268 

Man's Devotion Parmenas Hill 261 

Aunt Polly's " George Washington " 261 

Mine Vamily Yawcob Strauss 263 

At the Garden Gate 264 

The Minister's Call 264 

Led by a Calf 265 

Tom Goldy's Little Joke ........... 266 

How Hezekiah Stole the Spoons 266 

Two Kinds of Polliwogs . . . Augusta Moore 268 

The Best Sewing Machine 268 

How They Said Good Night . 269 

Josiar's Courting 270 



PATHETIC RECITATIONS, 



Play Softly, Boys .... Teresa O' Hare Ti\ 

In the Baggage Coach Ahead 272 

The Missing One S". ^. Riser 212 

In Memoriam Thomas P. Gregory 273 

The Dying Newsboy . . Mrs. Emily Thornton 273 

Coals of Fire 274 

Dirge of the Drums Palph Alton 275 

The Old Dog's Death Postponed Chas. E. Baer 275 

The Fallen Hero Minna Irving 276 

The Soldier's Wife Elliott Flower 276 

" Break the News Gently" 277 

On the Other Train 277 

Some Twenty Years Ago . . . Stephen Marsell 279 

Only a Soldier 280 

The Pilgrim Fathers 280 

Master Johnny's Next-Door Neighbor 

Bret Harte 281 
vStonewall Jackson's Death . . Paul M. Russell 282 
The Story of Nell Robot Buchanan 284 



Little Nan 285 

One of the Little Ones G. L. Cailin 285 

The Drunkard's Daughter . . Eugene J. Hall 286 

The Beautiful 287 

Trouble in the Amen Corner . C. T. Harbaugh 288 

Little Mag's Victory Geo. L. Catlin 289 

Life's Battle Wayne Parsons 290 

The Lost Kiss /. Whitcomb Riley 290 

Execution of Mary, Queen of Scots . Lamartine 291 

Over the Range /. Harrison Mills 292 

The Story of Crazy Nell .... Joseph Whitten 292 

Little Sallie's Wish 293 

Drowned Among the Lilies . E. E. Rexjord 294 
The Fate of Charlotte Corday . . C.S. McKinley 294 
The Little Voyager .... Mrs. M. L. Bay7ie 295 
The Dream of Aldarin .... George Lippard 296 

In the Mining Town Rose H. Thorpe 297 

Tommy's Prayer I. F. Nichols 298 

Robby and Ruth Louisa S. Upham 300 



RECITATIONS FOR CHILDREN. 



Two Little Maidens Agnes Carr 301 



The Way to Succeed . . 
When Pa Begins to Shave 
A Boy's View ... 
Mammy's Churning Song 
The Twenty Frogs . . . . 



301 

Harry D. Robins 301 

302 

. E. A. Oldham 302 
303 



Only a Bird Mary Morrison 305 

The Way to Do It ... . Mary Mapes Dodge 303 

We Must All Scratch 304 

Kitty at School Kate Hulmer 304 

A P'ellow's Mother . . . Ma garet E. Sangster 305 
The Story Katie Told 305 



CONTENTS. 



la 



PAGE 

A tittle Rogue ._ 306 

Mattie's Waais and Wishes . . . Grace Gordon 806 

Won't and Will 307 

Willie's Breeches ..... Etta G. Saulsbury 307 

Little Dora's Soliloquy 307 

The Squirrel's Lesson 308 

Little Kitty 308 

Labor Song 309 

What Baby Said 310 

One Little Act 311 

The Little Orator .... Thaddeics M. Harris 311 

A Gentleman Margaret E. Sangster 312 

Babies and Kittens L. M. Hadley 312 

A Dissatisfied Chicken A. G. Waters 312 

The Little Torment 313 

The Reason Why . . . . 313 

A Child's Reasoning 314 

A Swell Dinner 314 

Little Jack Eugene J. Hall 314 

A Story of an Apple Sydney Dayre 315 

Idle Ben 315 

Baby Alice's Rain John Hay Furness 316 



Give Us Little Boys a Chance 316 

Puss in the Oven 316 

What Was It ? Sydney Dayre 317 

The Cobbler's Secret 317 

A Sad Case Clara D. Bates 318 

The Heir Apparent 318 

An Egg a Chicken 319 

One of God's Little Heroes Margaret J. Preston 320 

What the Cows were Doing 320 

Mamma's Help , 32o' 

How Two Birdies Kept House 321 

Why He Wouldn't Die 321 

The Sick Dolly 322 

Days of the Week Mary Ely Page 322 

Popping Corn 323 

How the Farmer Works 323 

The Birds' Picnic 324 

A Very Smart Dog 324 

Opportunity 325 

The Little Leaves' Journey 325 

The Broom Drill 325 



RECITATIONS FOR SUNDAY=SCHOOLS, 



Little Servants 332 

Willie and the Birds 332 

A Child's Prayer 332 

God Loves Me 332 

The Unfinished Prayer 333 

Seeds of Kindness 333 

A Lot of Don'ts E. C. Rook 333 

Little Willie and the Apple 334 

The Child's Prayer . . . Mary A. P. Humphrey 334 

"Mayn't I Be a Boy?" 335 

Give Your Best . . . „ . Adelaide A. Proctor 335 
The Birds Myra A. Shattuck 335 



" Come Unto Me "... o c . = ,..... 336 

There is a Teetotaler 337 

An Appeal for Beneficence 337 

Address of Welcome to a New Pastor 337 

Address of Welcome to a New Superintendent . 338 
Opening Address for a Sunday-school Exhibition 338 
Closing Address for a Sunday-school Exhibition 338 
Presentation Address to a Pastor ....... 339 

Presentation Address to a Teacher .... 339 

Presentation Address to a vSuperintendent . . . 339 

Address of Welcome After Illness 340 

Welcome to a Pastor May Hatheway 340 



PART III.— PROGRAMMES FOR SPECIAL OCCASIONS. 



Programme No. i for Fourth of July 341 

'* America" 341 

The Fourth of July Chas, Sprague 341 

The Vow of Washington . . . .J.G. Whittier 342 

The Little Mayflower Edward Everett 343 

O Land of a Million Brave Soldiers 343 

To the Ladies 344 

Programme No. 2 for Fourth of July 344 

God Bless om Native Land 344 

Our Natal Day Will Carleton 345 

The Banner of the Sea ...... Homer Green 346 

What America Has Done for the World 

G. C. Verplanck 346 
Stand Up for Liberty . . . nobert Treat Paine 347 



Off with Your Hat as the Flag Goes By 

H. C. Bunner 348 
Programme for Christmas Entertainment . . . 349 
Ring, O Bells, in Gladness . . . Alice J. Cleator 349 

A Letter to Santa Clans 349 

Christmas in All the Lands . . . . G. A. Brown 349 
Santa Claus on the Train .... Henry C. Walsh 350 

The Waifs Margaret Deland 351 

Welcome Santa Claus 351 

Santa Claus and the Mouse . . Emilie Poulsson 351 

What Ted Found in His Stocking 352 

Programme for Decoration Day » . . 353 

The Meaning of the Day 353 

Exercise for Fifteen Pupils 353 



CONTENTS. 



Decoration Day /. Whitcomb Riley 354 

Acrostic 355 

Origiu of Memorial Day 355 

Strew with Flowers the Soldier's Grave 

/. W. Dunbar 355 

Our Nation's Patriots 356 

Programme for Washington's Birthday .... 357 

Washington Enigma 357 

Washington's Day 357 

A Little Boy's Hatchet Story 357 

Maxims of Washington 358 

Once More We Celebrate .... Alice J. Cleator 358 

The Father of His Country 358 

February Twenty-Second Joy Allison ^b^ 

A True Soldier Alice J. Clealor 359 

Washington's Life 3(50 

Birthday of Washington . . . George Howland 360 

Programme for Arbor Day 36J 

We Have Come with Joyful Greeting 361 

Arbor Day • . 361 

Quotations . . . . ^ 361 

What Do We Plant When We Plant a Tree ? 

Henry Abbey 362 
Wedding of the Palm and Pine ........ 363 

Origin of Arbor Day 363 

Value of Our Forests 364 

Up From the Smiling Karth . . Edna D. Proctor 364 

The Trees 364 

Programme for A Harvest Home » 365 

Through the Golden Summertime 365 

A Sermon in Rhyme 365 

Farmer John J- T. Trowbridge 366 

The Husbandman .... .... John Sterling 366 

The Nobility of Labor ..... Orville Dewey 367 



PAAH 

The Corn Song J. G. Whittier 'dts7 

Great God ! Our Heartfelt Thanks 

W. D. Gallagher 367 
Programme for Lyceum or Parlor Entertainment 368 

Salutatory Address • 368 

Mrs. Piper Mariaji Douglass 369 

Colloquy— True Bravery 370 

Reverie in Church George A, Baker 371 

The Spanish-American War . President McKinley 372* 

A Cook of the Period 372 

Song— Bee-Hive Town 373 

Programme for Thanksgiving 373 

Honor the Mayflower's Band 373 

What am I Thankful For ? 374 

The Pumpkin J. G. Whittier 374 

What Matters the Cold Wind's Blast ? 374 

Outside and In 37,^ 

The Laboring Classes Hugh Legare 375 

A Thanksgiving . Lucy Lairom 376 

Song— The Pilgrims 376 

Programme for Flower Day .......... 377 

Let Us With Nature Sing o . . 377 

The Poppy and Mignonette » « . . 377 

Flower Quotations 377 

When Winter O'er the Hills Afar 378 

Flowers Lydia M. Child 378 

The Foolish Harebell . . . George MacDonald 378 

Questions About Flowers 379 

Pansies Mary A. McClelland 379 

Plant Song Nellie M. Brown 380 

We Wouid Hail Thee, Joyous Summer .... 380 

Summer-Time ....... H. W. Longfellow 380 

The Last Rose of Summer . . . Thomas Moore '6'^\ 



DIALOGUES FOR SCHOOLS AND LYCEUMS. 



In Want of a Servant Clara Augusta 382 

The Unwelcome Guest ...//. Elliot McBride 386 

Aunty Puzzled 388 

The Poor Little Rich Boy . Mrs. Adrian Kraal 390 

An Entirely Different Matter 391 

The Gossips 392 

Farmer Hanks Wants a Divorce 393 



Taking the Census 397 

Elder Sniffles' Courtship . . . . F. M. Whitcher 400 

The Matrimonial Advertisement 403 

Mrs. Malaprop and Captain Absolute 

R. B. Sheridan 407 
Winning a Widow 410 



MISCELLANEOUS DIALOGUES AND DRAMAS 
CONSTITUTION AND BY-LAWS FOR LYCEUMS 
SUP>JECTS FOR DEBATE BY LYCEUMS . 
TABLEjATTX for public ENTERTAINMENTS 



411 
443 
446 
447 




-1i-l 




>' - It 

11 



^?i! 




^?^m 




REMINISCENCES OF CHARLES DICKENS 

1. THE BIRTHPLACE OF CHARLES DICKENS, COMMERCIAL ROAD, PORTSEA. 2. THE "daRK 
COURT" IN FLEET STREET, (JOHNSON'S COURT) WHERE DICKENS POSTED HIS FIRST SKETCH. 
3. THE HOUSE IN FURNIVAL'S INN WHERE "PICKWICK" WAS WRITTEN. 4. CHARLES 

DICKENS EDITING "HOUSEHOLD WORDS." 5. THE CHURCH IN WHICH DICKENS WAS MAR- 
RIED, ST. LUKE'S, CHELSEA. 6. GAD'S HILL PLACE, ROCHESTER, THE NOVELISTS' LAST 
HOME. 7. THE MOAT, ROCHESTER CASTLE, WHERE DICKENS DESIRED TO BE BURIED. 




FRANCIS WILSON 

"It was all about a--ha! ha! and a--ho! ho! ho!— well reallv ; 
It is--hc! he! he!-I never could begin to tell you." 
(A Fine Study of Mirth) 



PART I. 

How TO Write a Composition 



AND 



Express Written Thought in a Correct and Elegant Manner. 




eJ 



HE correct and pleasing expression of 
one's thoughts in writing is an ac- 
complishment of the highest ordero 
l"o have little or no ability in the art of 
composition is a great misfortune. 

Who is willing to incur the disgrace and 
mortification of being unable to write a 
graceful and interesting letter, or an essay 
worthy to be read by intelligent persons ? 
What an air of importance belongs to the 
young scholar, or older student, who can pen 
a production excellent in thought and beau- 
tiful in language ! Such a gifted individual 
becomes almost a hero or heroine. 

When I was a pupil in one of our public 
schools the day most dreaded by all of the 
scholars was '' composition day." What to 
write about, and how to do it, were the most 
vexatious of all questions. Probably nine- 
tenths of the pupils would rather have mas- 
tered the hardest lessons, or taken a sound 



whipping, than to attempt to write one para- 
graph of a composition on any subject. 

While some persons have a natural faculty 
for putting their thoughts into words, a much 
larger number of others are compelled to 
confess that it is a difficult undertaking, and 
they are never able to satisfy themselves with 
their written productions. 

Let it be some encouragement to you to 
reflect that many who are considered excel- 
lent writers labored in the beginning under 
serious difficulties, yet, being resolved to 
master them, they finally achieved the most 
gratifying success. When Napoleon was told 
it would be impossible for his army to cross 
the bridge at Lodi, he replied, " There is no 
such word as impossible," and over the 
bridge his army wer^t. Resolve that you 
will succeed, and carry out this good reso- 
lution by close application and diligent prac- 
tice. " Labor conquers all things*' 



WHAT TO DO, AND HOW TO DO IT. 




'TUDY carefully the lessons con- 
tained in the following pages. 
They will be of great benefit, as 
they show you what to do and how to do it. 
These lessons are quite simple at first, and 
are followed by others that are more ad- 
vanced. All of them have been carefully pre- 
pared for the purpose of furnishing just such 
helps as you need. You can study them by 

•12— X) 



yourself; if you can obtain the assistance of 
a competent teacher, so much the better. I 
predict that you will be surprised at the rapid 
progress you are making. Perhaps you will 
become fascinated with your study; at least, 
it is to be hoped you will, and become en- 
thusiastic in your noble work. 

Be content to take one step at a time. Do 
not get the mistaken impression that you 

17 



18 



HOW TO WRITE A COMPOSITION. 



will be able to write a good composition 
before you have learned how to do it. Many 
persons are too eager to achieve success 
immediately, without patient and earnest 
endeavor to overcome all difficulties. 

Choose a subject for your composition that 
is adapted to your capacity. You cannot 
write on a subject that you know nothing 
about. Having selected your theme, think 
upon it, and, if possible, read what others 
have written about it, not for the purpose of 
stea](ng their thoughts, but to stimulate your 
own, and store your mind with information. 
Then you will be able to express in writing 
what you know. 

The Treatment of the Subject. 

The principal reason why many persons 
make such hard work of the art of composi- 
tion is that they have so few thoughts, and 
consequently so little to say, upon the sub- 
jects they endeavor to treat. The same rule 
must be followed in writing a composition as 
in building a house — you must first get your 
materials. 

I said something about stealing the 
thoughts of others, but must qualify this by 
saying that while you are learning to write, 
you are quite at liberty in your practice to 
make use of the thoughts of others, writing 
them from memory after you have read a 
page or a paragraph from some standard 
author. It is better that you should remem- 
ber only a part of the language employed by 
the writer whose thoughts you are reproduc- 
ing, using as far as possible words of your 
own, yet in each instance wherein you 
remember his language you need not hesitate 
to use it. Such an exercise is a valuable aid 
to all who wish to perfect themselves in the 
delightful art of composition. 

Take any writer of good English — J. G. 
Holland, Oliver Wendell Holmes, Irving, 
Cooper, or the articles in our best magazines 



— and read half a page twice or thrice ; close 
the book, and write, in your own words, 
what you have read; borrowing, nevertheless, 
from the author so much as you can remem- 
ber. Compare what you have written with 
the original, sentence by sentence, and wore 
by word, and observe how far you have fallen 
short of the skilful author. 

A Frequent Change of Authors. 

You will thus not only find out your own 
faults, but you will discover where they lie, 
and how they may be mended. Repeat the 
lesson with the same passages twice or 
thrice, if your memory is not filled with the 
words of the author, and observe, at each 
trial, the progress you have made, not merely 
by comparison with the original, but by com- 
parison with the previous exercises. 

Do this day after day, changing your 
author for the purpose of varying the style, 
and continue to do so long after you have 
passed on to the second and more advanced 
stages of your training. Preserve all your 
exercises, and occasionally compare the latest 
with the earliest, and so ascertain what pro- 
gress you have made. 

Give especial attention to the words^ which, 
to my mind, are of greater importance than 
the sentences. Take your nouns first, and 
compare them with the nouns used by your 
author. You will probably find your words 
to be very much bigger than his, more 
sounding, more far-fetched, more classical, 
or more poetical. All young writers and 
speakers fancy that they cannot sufficiently 
revel in fine words. Comparison with the 
great mastery of English will rebuke this 
pomposity of inexperience, and chasten and 
improve your style. 

You will discover, to your surprise, that 
our best writers eschew big words and do 
not aim to dazzle their readers with fine 
words. Where there is a choice, they pre- 



HOW TO WRITE A COMPOSITION. 



19 



fer the pure, plain, simple English noun— 
the name by which the thing is known to 
everybody, and which, therefore, is instantly 
understood by all readers. These great 
authors call a spade "a spade;" only small 
scribblers term it " an implement of hus- 
bandry." If there is a choice of names, 
good writers prefer the one best known, 
\vhile an inexperienced writer is apt to select 
the most uncommon^ 

The example of the masters of the English 
tongue should teach you that commonness 
(if I may be allowed to coin a word to ex- 
press that for which I can find no precise 
equivalent) and vulgarity are not the same in 
substance. Vulgarity is shown in assump- 
tion and affectation of language quite as 
much as in dress and manners, and it is 
never vulgar to be natural. Your object is 
to be understood. To be successful, you 
must write and talk in a language that every- 
body can understand ; and such is the na- 
tural vigor, picturesqueness and music of 
our tongue, that you could not possess your- 
self of a more powerful or effective instru- 
ment for expression. 

Right Choice of Words. 

It is well for you to be assured that while, 
by this choice of plain English for the em- 
bodying of your thoughts, you secure the 
ears of ordinary people, you will at the same 
time please the most highly educated and 
refined. The words that have won the ap- 
plause of a political meeting are equally 
successful in securing a hearing in Congress, 
provided that the thoughts expressed and 
the manner of their expression be adapted to 
the changed audience. 

Then for the sentences. Look closely at 
their construction, comparing it with that of 
your author; I mean, note how you have 
put your words together. The placing of 
words is next in importance to the choice of 



them. The best writers preserve the natural 
order of thought. They sedulously shun 
obscurities and perplexities. They avoid 
long and involved sentences. Their rule is, 
that one sentence should express one thought, 
and they will not venture on the introduction 
of two or three thoughts, if they can help it. 

Obscure Sentences. 

Undoubtedly this is extremely difficult— 
sometimes impossible. If you want to 
qualify an assertion, you must do so on the 
instant; but the rule should never be for- 
gotten, that a long and involved sentence is 
to be avoided, wherever it is practicable to 
do so. 

Another lesson you will doubtless learn 
from the comparison of your composition 
with that of your model author. You will 
see a wonderful number oi adjectives in your 
own writing, and very few in his. It is the be- 
setting sin of young writers to indulge in ad- 
jectives, and precisely as a man gains ex- 
perience do his adjectives diminish in num- 
ber. It seems to be supposed by all un- 
practiced scribblers that the multiplication 
of epithets gives force. The nouns are never 
left to speak for themselves. 

It is curious to take up any newspaper 
and read the paragraphs of news, to open 
the books of nine-tenths of our authors of 
the third and downward ranks. You will 
rarely see a noun standing alone, without 
one or more adjectives prefixed. Be assured 
that this is a mistake. An adjective should 
never be used unless it is essential to correct 
description. As a general rule adjectives 
add little strength to the noun they are set 
to prop, and a multiplication of them is 
always enfeebling. The vast majority of 
nouns convey to the mind a much more ac- 
curate picture of the thing they signify than 
you can possibly paint by attaching epithets 
to them. 



20 



HOW TO WRITE A COMPOSITION. 



Yet ao not push to the extreme what has 
just been said. Adjectives are a very im- 
iportant part of language, and we could not 
well do without them. You do not need to 
say a " flowing river ; " every river flows, 
but you might wish to say a " swollen river," 
and you could not convey the idea you de- 
sire to express without using the adjective 
" swollen." What I wish to caution you 
against is the needless multiplication of ad- 
jectives, which only serve to overload and 
weaken the expression of your thought. 

Express Your Own Ideas. 

Vhen you have repeated your lesson 
tnany times, and find that you can write 
with some approach to the purity of your 
author, you should attempt an original com- 
position. In the beginning it would be pru- 
dent, perhaps, to borrow the ideas, but to 
put them into your own language. The 
difficulty ot this consists in the tendency of 
the min \ to mistake memory for invention, 
and thus, unconsciously to copy the language 
as well as the thoughts of the author. 

The best way to avoid this is to translate 
poetry into prose; to take, for instance, a 
page of narrative in verse and relate the same 
story in plain prose ; or to peruse a page o^" 
didactic poetry, and set down the argument 
in a plain, unpoetical fashion. This will make 
you familiar with the art of composition, only 
to be acquired by practice ; and the advan- 
tage, at this early stage of your education in 
the arts of writing and speaking, of putting 
into proper language the thoughts of others 
rather than your own is, that you are better 
able to discover your faults. Your fatherly 
love for your own ideas is such that you are 
really incompetent to form a judgment of 
their worth, or of the correctness of the lan- 
guage in which they are embodied. 

The critics witness this hallucination every 
day. Books continually come to ihcm, writ- 



ten by men who are not mad, who probably 
are sufiiciently sensible in the ordinary busi- 
ness of life, who see clearly enough the faults 
of other books, who would have laughed 
aloud over the same pages, if placed in their 
hands by another writer, but who, neverthe- 
less, are utterly unable to recognize the ab- 
surdP^ies of their own handiwork. The reader 
is surprised that any man of common intelli- 
gence could indite such a maze of nonsense^ 
where the right word is never to be found ia 
its right place, and this with such utter un- 
consciousness of incapacity on the part ol 
the author. 

Write Exactly What You Mean. 

Still more is he amazed that, even if a sen- 
sible man could so write, a sane man could 
read that composition in print, and not with 
shame throw it into the fire. But the expla- 
nation is, that the writer knew what he in- 
tcndcd to say ; his mind is full of that, and he 
reads from the manuscript or the type, not 
so much what is there set down, as what was 
already floating in his own mind. To criti- 
cise yourself you must, to some extent, for- 
get yourself This is impracticable to many 
persons, and, lest it may be so with you, I 
advise you to begin by putting the thoughts 
of others into your own language, before you 
attempt to give formal expression to your 
own thoughts. 

You must habitually place your thoughts 
upon paper — first, that you may do so rap- 
idly ; and, secondly, that you may do so cor- 
rectly. When you come to write your re- 
flections, you will be surprised to find how 
loose and inaccurate the most vivid of them 
have been, what terrible flaws there are in 
your best arguments. 

You are thus enabled to correct them, and 
to compare the matured sentence with the 
rude conception of it. You are thus trained 
to weigh your words and assure yourself 



HOW TO WRITE A COMPOSITION. 



21 



that incy precisely embody the idea you de- 
sire to convey. You can trace uncouthness 
in the sentences, and dislocations of thought, 
of which you had not been conscious before. 
It is far better to learn your lesson thus upon 



paper, which you can throw into the fire un- 
known to any human being, than to be 
taught it by readers who are not always very 
lenient critics and are quick to detect any 
faults that appear in your production. 



READING AND THINKING. 




'AVING accustomed yourself to ex- 
press, in plain words, and in clear, 
precise and straightforward sen- 
tences, the ideas of others, you 
should proceed to express your own thoughts 
in the same fashion. You will now see 
more distinctly the advantage of having* first 
studied composition by the process I have 
recommended, for you are in a condition to 
discover the deficiencies in the flow of your 
own ideas. You will be surprised to find, 
when you come to put them into words, how 
many of your thoughts were shapeless, hazy 
and dreamy, slipping from your grasp when 
you try to seize them, resolving themselves, 
like the witches in Macbeth, 

Into the air : and what seemed corporal melted 
As breath into the wind. 

What You Should Read. 

Thus, after you have learned kow to write, 
you will need a good deal of education before 
you will learn wkat to write. I cannot much 
assist you in this part of the business. Two 
words convey the whole iQsson—Read and 
Ikink, What should you read ? Everything. 
What think about ? All subjects that present 
themselves. The writer and orator must be 
a man of very varied knowledge. Indeed, 
for all the purposes of practical life, you can- 
not know too much. No learning is quite 
useless. But a speaker, especially if an ad- 
vocate, cannot anticipate the subjects on 
which he may be required to talk. Law is 
the least part of his discourse. For once 
that he is called upon to argue a point of 



law, he is compelled to treat matters of fact 
twenty times. 

And the range of topics is very wide ; it 
embraces science and art, history and philo- 
sophy ; above all, the knowledge of human 
nature that teaches how the mind he ad- 
dresses is to be convinced and persuaded, and 
how a willing ear is to be won to his dis- 
course. No limited range of reading will 
suffice for so large a requirement. The ele- 
ments of the sciences must be mastered ; the 
foundations of philosophy must be learned ; 
the principles of art must be acquired; the 
broad facts of history must be stamped upon 
the memory ; poetry and fiction must not be 
slighted or neglected. 

Our Great Writers 

You must cultivate frequent and intimate 
intercourse v/ith the genius of all ages and 
of all countries, not merely as standards by 
which to measure your own progress, or as 
fountains from which you may draw unlim- 
ited ideas for your own use, but because they 
are peculiarly suggestive. This is the char- 
acteristic of genius, that, conveying one 
thought to the reader's mind, it kindles in 
him many other thoughts. The value of this 
to speaker and writer will be obvious to you. 

Never, therefore, permit a day to pass 
without reading more or less — if it be but a 
single page — from some one of our great 
writers. Besides the service I have described 
in the multiplication of your ideas, it will 
render you the scarcely lesser service of pre- 
serving purity of style and language, and pre- 



22 



HOW TO WRITE A COMPOSITION. 



venting you from falling into the conventional 
affectations and slang of social dialogue. 

For the same reason, without reference to 
any higher motive, but simply to fill our 
mind with the purest English, read daily 
some portion of the Bible; for which exer- 
cise there is another reason also, that its 
phraseology is more familiar to all kinds of 
audiences than any other, is more readily un- 
derstood, and, therefore, is more sufficient in 
securing their attention. 

Three Kinds of Reading. 

Your reading will thus consist of three 
kinds : reading for knowledge, by which I 
mean the storing of your memory with facts; 
reading for thoughts, by which I mean the 
ideas and reflections that set your own mind 
thinking; and reading the words, by which I 
mean the best language in which the best 
authors have clothed their thoughts. And 
these three classes of reading should be pur- 
sued together daily, more or less as you can, 
for they are needful each to the others, and 
neither can be neglected without injury to 
the rest. 

So also you must make it a business to 
think. You will probably say that you are 
always thinking when you are not domg 
anything, and often when you are busiest. 
True, the mind is active, but wandering, 
vaguely from topic to topic. You are not in 
reality thinking 07it2.xvy\}[{\w^', indeed, you can- 
not be sure that your thoughts have a shape 
until you try to express them in words. 
Nevertheless you must think before you can 
write or speak, and you should cultivate a 
Jiabit of thinking at all appropriate seasons. 

But do not misunderstand this suggestion. 
I do not design advising you to set yourself 
a-thinking, as you would take up a book to 
read at the intervals of business, or as a part 
of a course of self-training ; for such attempts 
would probably begin with wandering fancies 



and end in a comfortable nap. It is a fact 
worth noting, that few persons can think 
continuously while the body is at perfect rest. 
The time for thinking is when you are kept 
awake by some slight and almost mechanical 
muscular exercise, and the mind is not busil v 
attracted by external subjects of attention. 

Thus walking, angling, gardening, and 
other rural pursuits are pre-eminently the 
seasons for thought, and you should culti- 
vate a habit of thinking during those exer- 
cises, so needful for health of body and for 
fruitfulness of mind. Then it is that you 
should submit whatever" subject you desire 
to treat to careful review, turning it on all 
sides, and inside out, marshalling the facts 
connected with it, trying what may be said 
for or against every view of it, recalling what 
you may have read about it, and finally 
thinking what you could say upon it that 
had not been said before, or how you could 
put old views of it into new shapes. 

Learning to Think. 

Perhaps the best way to accomplish this 
will be to imai^ine yourself (vriting upon it, 
or making a speech upon it, and to think 
what in such case you would say; I do not 
mean in what ivords you would express 
yourself, but what you would discourse 
about; what ideas you would put forth; to 
what thoughts you would give utterance. 

At the beginning of this exercise you will 
find your reflections extremely vague and 
disconnected ; you will range from theme 
to theme, and mere flights of fancy will be 
substituted for steady, continuous thought. 
But persevere day by day, and that which 
was in the beginning an effort will soo»^ g.ow 
into a habit, and you will pass fevp moments 
of your working life in which, when not oc- 
cupied from without, your mind will not be 
usefidly employed within itself 

Having attained this habit of thinking, let 



HOW TO WRITE A COMPOSITION. 



23 



it be a rule with you, before you write 
or speak on any subject, to employ your 
thoughts upon it in the manner I have de- 
scribed. Go a-fishing. Take a walk. Weed 
your garden, Sweep, dust, do any sewing 
that needs to be done. While so occupied, 
think. It will be hard if your own intelli- 
gence cannot suggest to you how the subject 
should be treated, in what order of argument, 
with what illustrations, and with what new 
aspects of it, the original product of your 
own genius. 

At all events this is certain, that without 
preliminary reflection you cannot hope to 
deal with any subject to your own satisfac- 
tion, or to the profit or pleasure of others. 
If you neglect these precautions, you can 
never be more than a wind-bag, uttering 
words that, however grandly they may roll, 
convey no thoughts. There is hope for 
ignorance ; there is none for emptiness. 



To sum up these rules and suggestions : 
To become a writer or an orator, you must 
fill your mind with knowledge by reading 
and observation, and educate it to the crea- 
tion of thoughts by cultivating a habit of 
reflection. There is no limit to the know- 
ledge that will be desirable and useful ; it 
should include something of natural science 
much of history, and still more of human 
nature. The latter must be your study, for 
it is with this that the writer and speaker 
has to deal. 

Remember, that no amount of antiquarian, 
or historical, or scientific, or literary lore 
will make a writer or orator, without inti- 
mate acquaintance with the ways of the 
world^about him, with the tastes, sentiments, 
passions, emotions, and modes of thought of 
the men and women of the age in which he 
lives, and whose minds it is his business tf 
instruct and sway. 



HOW TO ACQUIRE A CAPTIVATING STYLE. 




OU must think, that you may have 
thoughts to convey ; and read, that 
you may have words wherewith to ex- 
press your thoughts correctly and gracefully. 
But something more than this is required to 
qualify you to write or speak. You must 
have a style. I will endeavor to explain 
what I mean by that. 

As every man has a manner of his own, 
differing from the manner of every other 
man, so has every mind its own fashion of 
communicating with other minds. This 
manner of expressing thought is style^ and 
therefore may style be described as the fea- 
tures of the mind displayed in its communi- 
cations with other minds ; as manner is the 
external feature exhibited in personal com- 
munication. 

But though style is the gift of nature, it is 
nevertheless to be cultivated; only in a sense 



different from that commonly understood by 
the word cultivation. 

Many elaborate treatises have been written 
on style, and the subject usually occupies a 
prominent place in all books on composition 
and oratory. It is usual with teachers to 
urge emphatically the importance of culti- 
vating style, and to prescribe ingenious re- 
cipes for its production. All these proceed 
upon the assumption that style is something 
artificial, capable of being taught, and which 
may and should be learned by the student, 
like spelling or grammar. 

But, if the definition of style which I have 
submitted to you is right, these elaborate 
trainings are a needless labor; probably a 
positive mischief I do not design to say 
a style may not be taught to you ; but it will 
be the style of some other man, and not your 
own; and, not being your own, it will no 



24 



HOW TO WRITE A COMPOSITION. 



more fit your mind than a second hand suit 
of clothes, bought without measurement at a 
pawn-shop, would fit your body, and your 
appearance in it would be as ungainly. 

But you must not gather fi-om this that 
you are not to concern yourself about style, 
that it may be left to take care of itself, and 
that you will require only to write or speak 
as untrained nature prompts. I say that you 
must cultivate style ; but I say also that the 
style to be cultivated must be your own, and 
not the style of another. 

How to Cultivate Style. 

The majority of those who have written 
upon the subject recommend you to study 
the styles of the great writers of the English 
language, with a view to acquiring their ac- 
complishment. So I say — study them, by 
all means ; but not for the purpose of imita- 
tion, not with a view to acquire their manner, 
but to learn their language, to see how they 
have embodied their thoughts in words, to 
discover the manifold graces with which 
they have invested the expression of their 
thoughts, so as to surround the act of com- 
municating information, or kindling emotion, 
with the various attractions and charms of art. 

Cultivate style ; but instead of laboring to 
acquire the style of your model, it should be 
your most constant endeavor to avoid it. 
The greatest danger to which you are ex- 
posed is that of falhng into an imitation 
of the manner of some favorite author, 
whom you have studied for the sake of 
learning a style, which, if you did learn it, 
would be unbecoming to you, because it is 
not your own. That which in him was man- 
ner becomes in you mannerism ; you but 
dress yourself in his clothes, and imagine 
•that you are like him, while you are no more 
like than is the valet to his master whose 
cast-off coat he is wearing. 

There are some authors whose manner is 



so infectious that it is extremely difficult not 
to catch it. Hawthorne is one of these ; it 
requires an effort not to fall into his formula' 
of speech. But your protection against this 
danger must be an ever-present conviction 
that your own style will be the best for you, 
be it ever so bad or good. You must strive 
to be yourself, to think for yourself, to speak 
in your own manner; then, what you say 
and your style of saying it will be in perfect 
accord, and the pleasure to those who read 
or listen will not be disturbed by a sense of 
impropriety and unfitness. 

Nevertheless, I repeat, you should culti- 
vate your own style, not by changing it into 
some other person's style, but by striving to 
preserve its individuality, while decorating it 
with all the graces of art. Nature gives the 
style, for your style is yourself; but the dec- 
orations are slowly and laboriously acquired 
by diligent study, and, above all, by long and 
patient practice. There are but two methods 
of attaining to this accomplishment — con- 
templation of the best productions of art, and 
continuous toil in the exercise of it. 

Make Your Composition Attractive. 

I assume that, by the process I have al- 
ready described, you have acquired a toler- 
ably quick flow of ideas, a ready command 
of words, and ability to construct grammatical 
sentences ; all that now remains to you is to 
learn to use this knowledge that the result 
may be presented in the most attractive 
shape to those whom you address. I am 
unable to give you many practical hints 
towards this, because it is not a thing to be 
acquired by formal rules, in a few lessons and 
by a set course of study ; it is the product of 
very wide and long-continued gleanings from 
a countless variety of sources ; but, above all, 
it is taught by experience. 

If you compare your compositions at inter- 
vals of six months, you will see the progress 



HOW TO WRITE ^ COMPOSITION. 



25 



you have made. You began with a multi- 
tude of words, with big nouns and bigger 
adjectives, a perfect firework of epithets, a 
tendency to call everything by something 
else than its proper name, and the more you 
admired your own ingenuity the more you 
thought it must be admired by others. If 
you had a good idea, you were pretty sure 
to dilute it by expansion, supposing the 
v/hile that you were improving by amplify- 
ing it. You indulged in small flights of 
poetry (in prose), not always in appropriate 
places, and you were tolerably sure to go off 
into rhapsody, and to mistake fine words for 
eloquence. This is the juvenile style; and 
is not peculiar to yourself — it is the common 
fault of ^?// young writers. 

But the cure for it may be hastened by 
judicious self-treatment. In addition to the 
study of good authors, to cultivate your 
taste, you may mend your style by a pro- 
cess of pruning, after the following fashion. 
Having finished your composition, or a sec- 
tion of it, lay it aside, and do not look at it 
again for a week, during which interval other 
labors will have engaged your thoughts. 
You will then be in a condition to revise it 
with an approach to critical impartiality, 
and so you will begin to learn the whole= 



some art of blotting. Go through it slowly, 
pen in hand, weighing every word, and ask- 
ing yourself, "What did I intend to say? 
How can I say it in the briefest and plainest 
English?" 

Compare with the plain answer you return 
to this question the form in which you had 
tried to express the same meaning in the 
writing before you, and at each word further 
ask yourself, " Does this word precisely con- 
vey my thought ? Is it the aptest word ? 
Is it a necessary word? Would my mean- 
ing be fully expressed without it?" If it is 
not the best, change it for a better. If it is 
superfluous, ruthlessly strike it out. 

The work will be painful at first — you will 
sacrifice with a sigh so many flourishes ot 
fancy, so many figures of speech, of whose 
birth you were proud. Nay, at the begin- 
ning, and for a long time afterwards, your 
courage will fail you, and many a cherished 
phrase will be spared by your relenting pen. 
But be persistent, and you will triumph at 
last. Be not content with one act of erasure. 
Read the manuscript again, and, seeing how 
much it is improved, you will be inclined to 
blot a little more. Lay it aside for a month, 
and then read again, and blot again as be- 
fore. Be severe toward yourself. 



THE CHOICE OF LANGUAGE. 




IMPLICITY is the crowning 
achievement of judgment and 
good taste. It is of very slow 
growth in the greatest minds ; by 
the multitude it is never acquired. The 
gradual progress towards it can be curiously 
traced in the works of the great masters of 
English composition, wheresoever the inju- 
dicious zeal of admirers has given to the 
world the juvenile writings which their own 
better taste had suffered to pass into oblivion. 
Lord Macaulay was an instance of this. 



Compare his latest with his earliest cOinposi- 
tions, as collected in the posthumous volume 
of his " Remains," and the growth of im- 
provement will be manifest. 

Yet, at first thought, nothing appears to 
be easier to remember, and to act upon, than 
the rule, '' Say what you want to say in the 
fewest words that wall express your meaning 
clearly; and let those words be the plainest, 
the most common (not vulgar), and the most 
intelligible to the greatest number of per- 
sons." It is certain that a beginner will adopt 



26 



HOW TO WRITE A COMPOSITION. 



the very reverse of this. He will say what 
he has to say in the greatest number of words 
he can devise, and those words will be the 
most artificial and uncommon his memory 
can recall. As he advances, he will learn to 
drop these long phrases and big words ; he 
will gradually contract his language to the 
limit of his thoughts, and he will discover, 
after long experience, that he was never so 
feeble as when he flattered himself that he 
was most forcible. 

Faults in Writing. 

I have dwelt upon this subject with repeti- 
tions that may be deemed almost wearisome, 
because affectations and conceits are the beset- 
ting sin of modern composition, and the vice 
is growing and spreading. The literature of 
our periodicals teems with it; the magazines 
are infected by it almost as much as the 
newspapers, which have been always famous 
ff-r it. 

Instead of an endeavor to write plainly, 
the express purpose of the writers in the 
jjcriodicals is to write as obscurely as possi- 
ble ; they make it a rule never to call any- 
thing by its proper name, neve-r to say any- 
thing directly in plain English, never to 
express their true meaning. They delight 
to say something quite different in appear- 
ance from that which they purpose to say, 
requiring the reader to translate it, if he can, 
and, if he cannot, leaving him in a state of 
bewilderment, or wholly uninformed. 

Worse models you could not find than 
those presented to you by the newspapers 
and periodicals ; yet are you so beset by 
them that it is extremely difficult not to 
catch the infection. Reading day by day 
compositions teeming with bnd taste, and 
especially where the style floods you with its 
conceits and affectations, you unconsciously 
fall into the same vile habit, and incessant 
vigilance is required to restore you to sound, 



vigorous, manly, and wholesome English, 
I cannot recommend to you a better plan 
for counteracting the inevitable mischief than 
the daily reading of portions of some of our 
best writers of English, specimens of which 
you will find near the close of the First Part 
of this volume. We learn more by example 
than in any other way, and a careful perusal 
of these choice specimens of writing from 
the works of the most celebrated authors 
will greatly aid you. 

You will soon learn to appreciate the power 
and beauty of those simple sentences com^ 
pared with the forcible feebleness of some, 
and the spasmodic efforts and mountebank 
contortions of others, that meet your eye 
when you turn over the pages of magazine 
or newspaper. I do not say that you will al 
once become reconciled to plain English, 
after being accustomed to the tinsel and tin 
trumpets of too many modern writers; but 
you will gradually come to like it more and 
more; you will return to it with greater zest 
year by year; and, having thoroughly learned 
to love it, you will strive to follow the exam- 
ple of the authors who have written it. 

Read Great Authors. 

And this practice of daily reading the 
writings of one of the great masters of the 
English tongue should never be abandoned. 
So long as you have occasion to write or 
speak, let it be held by you almost as a duty. 
And here I would suggest that you should 
read them aloud; for there is no doubt that 
the words, entering at once by the eye and 
the ear, are more sharply impressed upon 
the mind than when perused silently. 

Moreover, when reading aloud you read 
more slowly ; the full meaning of each word 
must be understood, that you may give the 
right expression to it, and the ear catches the 
general structure of the sentences more per- 
fectly- Nor will this occupy much time. 



I 



HOW TO WRITE A COMPOSITION. 



27 



There is no need to devote to it more than a 
few minutes every day. Two or three pages 
thus read daily will suffice to preserve the 
purity of your taste. 

Your first care in composition will be, of 
course, to express yourself grammatically. 
This is partly habit, partly teaching. If 
those with whom a child is brought up talk 
grammatically, he will do likewise, from mere 
imitation; but he will learn quite as readily 
anything ungrammatical to which his ears 
may be accustomed ; and, as the most fortu- 
nate of us mingle in childhood with servants 
and other persons not always observant of 
number, gender, mood, and tense, and as even 
they who have enjoyed the best education 
lapse, in familiar talk, into occasional defiance 
of grammar, which could not be avoided 
without pedantry, you will find the study of 
grammar necessary to you under any circum- 
stances. Your ear will teach you a great deal, 
^nd you may usually trust to it as a guide; 



but sometimes occasions arise Vv^hen you are 
puzzled to determine which is the correct 
form of expression, and in such cases there 
is safety only in reference to the rule. 

Fortunately our public schools and acade- 
mies give much attention to the study > i 
grammar. The very first evidence that a 
person is well educated is the ability to speak 
correctly. If you were to say, " I paid big 
prices for them pictures," or, " Her photo- 
graphs always flatters her," or, *' His fund of 
jokes and stories make him a pleasant com- 
panion," or, " He buys the paper for you and 
I " — if you were guilty of committing such 
gross errors against good grammar, or scores 
of others that might be mentioned, your 
chances for obtaining a standing in polite 
society would be very slim. Educated per- 
sons would at once rank you as an ignorant 
boor, and their treatment of you would be 
suggestive of weather below zero. Do not 
'* murder the King's English." 



PUTTING WORDS INTO SENTENCES. 




AVING pomted out the importance 
of correct grammar and the right 
choice of language, I wish now 
to furnish you with some practi- 
cal suggestions for the construction of sen- 
tences. Remember that a good thought 
often suffers from a weak and faulty expres- 
sion of it. 

Your sentences will certainly shape them- 
selves after the structure of your own mind. 
If your thoughts are vivid and definite, so 
will be your language ; if dreamy and hazy, 
so will your composition be obscure. Your 
speech, whether oral or written, can be but 
the expression of yourself; and what you are, 
that speech will be. 

Remember, then, that you cannot mate- 
rially change the substantial character of 
your writing; but you may much improve 



the form of it by the observance of two or 
three general rules. 

In the first place, de sure you have something 
to say. This may appear to you a very un- 
necessary precaution ; for who, you will ask, 
having nothing to say, desires to write or 
to speak ? I do not doubt that you have 
often felt as if your brain was teeming with 
thoughts too big for words ; but when you 
came to seize them, for the purpose of put- 
ting them into words, you have found them 
evading your grasp and melting into the air. 
They were not thoughts at all, but fancies — - 
shadows which you had mistaken for sub- 
stances, and whose vagueness you would 
never have detected, had you not sought to 
embody them in language. Hence you will 
need to be assured that you have thoughts 
to express, before you try to express them. 



28 



HOW TO WRITE A COMPOSITION. 



And how to do this ? By asking yourself, 
when you take up the pen, what it is you in- 
tend to say, and answering yourself as you 
best can, without caring for the form of ex- 
pression. If it is only a vague and mystical 
idea, conceived in cloudland, you will try in 
vain to put it into any form of words, how- 
ever rude. If, however, it is a definite 
thought, proceed at once to set it down in 
words and fix it upon paper. 

Vague and Hazy Ideas. 

The expression of a precise and definite 
thought is not difficult. Words will follow 
the thought; indeed, they usually accom- 
pany it, because it is almost impossible to 
think unless the thought is clothed in words. 
So closely are ideas and language linked by 
habit, that very few minds are capable of con- 
templating them apart, insomuch that it may 
be safely asserted of all intellects, save the 
highest, that if they are unable to express 
their ideas, it is because the ideas are incapa- 
ble of expression — because they are vague 
and hazy. 

For the present purpose it will suffice that 
you put upon paper the substance of what 
you desire to say, in terms as rude as you 
please, the object being simply to measure 
your thoughts. If you cannot express them, 
do not attribute your failure to the v/eakness 
of language, but to the dreaminess of your 
ideas, and therefore banish them without 
mercy, and direct your mind to some more 
definite object for its contemplations. If you 
succeed in putting your ideas into words, be 
they ever so rude, you will have learned the 
first, the most difficult, and the most import- 
ant lesson in the art of writing. 

The second is far easier. Having thoughts, 
and having embodied those thoughts in un- 
polished phrase, your next task will be to 
present them in the most attractive form. To 
«ecure the attention of those to whom you 



desire to communicate your thoughts, it is 
not enough that you utter them in any words 
that come uppermost; you must express 
them in the best words, and in the most 
graceful sentences, so that they may be read 
with pleasure, or at least without offending 
the taste. 

Your first care in the choice of words will 
be that they shall express precisely your 
meaning. Words are used so loosely in so- 
ciety that the same word will often be found 
to convey half a dozen different ideas to as 
many auditors. Even where there is not a 
conflict of meanings in the same word, there 
is usually a choice of words having meanings 
sufficiently alike to be used indiscriminately, 
without subjecting the user to a charge of 
positive error. But the cultivated taste is 
shown in the selection of such as express the 
most delicate shades of difference. 

Suit the Word to the Thought. 

Therefore, it is not enough to have abund- 
ance of words ; you must learn the precise 
meaning of each word, and in what it differs 
from other words supposed to be synony- 
mous ; and then you must select that which 
most exactly conveys the thought you are 
seeking to embody. There is but one way 
to fill your mind with words, and that is, to 
read the best authors, and to acquire an 
accurate knowledge of the precise meaning 
of their words — by parsing as you read. 

By the practice of parsing, I intend very 
nearly the process so called at schools, only 
limiting the exercise to the definitions of the 
principal words. As thus: take, for instance 
the sentence that immediately precedes this, 
— -ask yourself what is the meaning of ''prac- 
tice," of '' parsing," of " process," and such 
like. Write the answer to each, that you 
may be assured that your definition is dis- 
tinct. Compare it with the definitions of the 
same word in the dictionaries, and observe 



HOW TO WRITE A COMPOSITION. 



29 



the various senses in which it has been 
used. 

You will thus learn also the words that 
have the same, or nearly the same, meaning 
—-a large vocabulary of which is necessary 
to composition, for frequent repetition of the 
same word, especially in the same sentence, 
is an inelegance, if not a positive error. 
Compare your definition with that of the 
authorities, and your use of the word with 
the uses of it cited in the dictionary, and you 
will thus measure your own progress in the 
science of words. 

An Amusing Exercise. 

This useful exercise may be made ex- 
tremely amusing as well as instructive, if 
friends, having a like desire for self-improve- 
ment, will join you in the practice of it; and 
I can assure you that an evening will be thus 
spent pleasantly as well as profitably. You 
may make a merry game of it — a game of 
speculation. Given a word ; each one of the 
company in turn writes his definition of it; 
Webster's Dictionary, or some other, is then 
referred to, and that which comes nearest 
the authentic definition wins the honor or 
the prize; it may be a sweepstakes carried 
off by him whose definition hits the mark 
the most nearly. 

But, whether in company or alone, you 
should not omit the frequent practice of this 
exercise, for none will impart such a power 
of accurate expression and supply such an 
abundance of apt words wherein to embody 
the delicate hues and various shadings of 
thought. 

So with sentences, or the combination of 
words. Much skill is required for their con- 
struction. They must convey your meaning 
accurately, and as far as possible in the na- 
tural order of thought, and yet they must not 
be complex, involved, verbose, stiff, ungainly, 
or full of repetitions. They must be brief, 



but not curt; explicit, but not verbose. 
Here, again, good taste must be your guide, 
rather than rules which teachers propound, 
but which the pupil never follows. 

Not only does every style require its own 
construction of a sentence, but almost every 
combination of thought will demand a differ- 
ent shape in the sentence by which it is con- 
veyed. A standard sentence, like a standard 
style, is a pedantic absurdity ; and, if you 
would avoid it, you must not try to write by 
rule, though you may refer to rules in order 
to find out your faults after you have written. 

Lastly, inasmuch as your design is, not 
only to influence, but to please, it will be ne- 
cessary for you to cultivate what may be 
termed the graces of composition. It is not 
enough that you instruct the minds of your 
readers; you must gratify their taste, and win 
their attention, giving pleasure in the very 
process of imparting information. Hence 
you must make choice of words that convey 
no coarse meanings, and excite no disagree 
able associations. You are not to sacrifice 
expression to elegance ; but so, likewise, you 
are not to be content with a word or a sen- 
tence if it is offensive or unpleasing, merely 
because it best expresses your meaning. 

Graces of Oomposition. 

The precise boundary between refinement 
and rudeness cannot be defined; your own 
cultivated taste must tell you the point at 
which power or explicitness is to be pre- 
ferred to delicacy. One more caution I 
would impress upon you, that you pause 
and give careful consideration to it before 
you permit a coarse expression, on account 
of its correctness, to pass your critical review 
when you revise your manuscript, and again 
when you read the proof, if ever you rusi. 
into print. 

And much might be said also about the 
music of speech. Your words and sentences 



30 



HOW TO WRITE A COMPOSITION. 



must be musical. They must not come 
liarshly from tlie tongue, if uttered, or grate 
upon the ear, if heard. There is a rhythm 
in words which should be observed in all 
composition, written or oral. The percep- 
tion of it is a natural gift, but it may be 
much cultivated and improved by reading 
the works of the great masters of English, 



especially of the best poets — -the most excel- 
lent of all in this wonderful melody of words 
being Longfellow and Tennyson. Perusal 
of their works will show you what you 
should strive to attain in this respect, even 
though it may not enable you fully to ac- 
complish the object of your endeavor. Aiif 
at the sun and you wall shoot high. 



ERRORS TO BE AVOIDED. 



OJI HE faculty for writing varies in various 
11 persons. Some write easily, some 
^ " laboriously; words flow from some 
pens without effort, others produce them slow- 
ly ; composition seems to come naturally to 
a few, and a few never can learn it, toil after 
it as they may. But whatever the natural 
power, of this be certain, that good writing 
cannot be accomplished without study and 
painstaking practice. Facility is far from 
being a proof of excellence. Many of the 
finest works in our language were written 
slowly and painfully; the words changed 
again and again, and the structure of the 
sentences carefully cast and recast. 

There is a fatal facility that runs "in one 
weak, washy, everlasting flood," that is more 
hopeless than any slowness or slovenliness. 
If you find your pen galloping over the 
paper, take it as a warning of a fault to be 
shunned ; stay your hand, pause, reflect, read 
what you have written ; see what are the 
thoughts you have set down, and resolutely 
try to condense them. There is no more 
wearisome process than to write the same 
thing over again ; nevertheless it is a most 
efficient teaching. Your endeavor should 
be to say the same rhings, but to say them 
in a different form ; to condense your 
thoughts, and express them in fewer words. 

Compare this second effort with the first, 
and you will at once measure your improve- 
ment. You cannot now do better than re- 



peat this lesson twice; rewrite, still bearing 
steadily in mind your object, which is, to 
say what you desire to utter in words the 
most apt and in the briefest form consistent 
with intelligibility and grace. Having done | 
this, take your last copy and strike out piti- 
lessly every superfluous word, substitute a 
vigorous or expressive word for a weak one, 
sacrifice the adjectives without remorse, and, 
when this work is done, rewrite the whole, 
as amended. 

And, if you would see what you have 
gained by this laborious but effective pro- 
cess, compare the completed essay with the 
first draft of it, and you will recognize tlie 
superiority of careful composition over facile 
scribbling. You will be fortunate if you 
thus acquire a mastery of condensation, and 
can succeed in putting the reins upon that 
fatal facility of words, before it has grown 
into an unconquerable habit. 

Simplicity is the charm of writing, as of 
speech ; therefore, cultivate it with care. It 
is not the natural manner of expression, or, 
at least, there grows with great rapklity in 
all of us a tendency to an ornamental style 
of talking and writing. As soon as the child 
emerges from the imperfect phraseology of 
his first letters to papa, he sets himself earn- 
estly to the task of trying to disguise what 
he has to say in some other words than such 
as plainly express his meaning and nothing 
more. To him it seems an object of ambi- 



HOW TO WRITE A COjVTPOSITION. 



31 



tion — a feat to be proud of — to go by the 
most indirect paths, instead of the straight 
way, and it is a triumph to give the person 
he addresses the task of interpreting his 
language, to find the true meaning lying 
'under the apparent meaning. 

Come Right to the Point. 

Circumlocution is not the invention of re- 
finement and civilization, but the vice of the 
uncultivated; it prevails the most with the 
young in years and in minds that never 
attain maturity. It is a characteristic of the 
savage. You cannot too much school your- 
self to avoid this tendency, if it has not 
already seized you, as is most probable, or to 
banish it, if infected by it. 

If you have any doubt of your condition 
in this respect, your better course will be to 
consult some judicious friend, conscious of 
the evil and competent to criticism. Sub- 
mit to him some of your compositions, ask- 
ing him to tell you candidly what are their 
faults, and especially what are the circum- 
locutions in them, and how the same thought 
might have been better, because more simply 
and plainly, expressed. Having studied his 
corrections, rewrite the article, striving to 
avoid those faults. 

Submit this again to your friendly censor, 
and, if many faults are found still to linger, 
apply yourself to the labor of repetition once 
more. Repeat this process with new writ- 
ings, until you produce them in a shape that 
requires few blottings, and, having thus 
learned what to shun, you may venture on 
self-reliance. 

But, even when parted from your friendly 
critic, you should continue to be your own 
critic, revising every sentence, with resolute 
purpose to strike out all superfluous words 
and to substitute an expressive word for 
every fine word You will hesitate to blot 
many a pet phrase, of whose invention you 



felt proud at the moment of its birth; but, 
if it is circumlocution, pass the pen through 
it ruthlessly, and by degrees you will train 
yourself to the crowning victory of art- 
simplicity. 

When you are writing on any subject, 
address yourself to it directly. Come to 
the point as speedily as possible, and do not 
walk round about it, as if you were reluctant 
to grapple with it. There is so much to be 
read nowadays that it is the duty of all who 
write to condense their thoughts and words. 
This cannot always be done in speaking, 
where slow minds must follow your faster 
lips, but it is always practicable in writing, 
where the reader may move slowly, or re- 
peat what he has not understood on the first 
passing of the eye over the words. 

Arranging Your Words. 

In constructing your sentences, marshal 
your words in the order of thought — that is 
the natural, and therefore the most intelligible 
shape for language to assume. In conver- 
sation we do this instinctively, but in writing 
the rule is almost always set at defiance. 
The man who would tell you a story in a 
plain, straightforward way would not write it 
without falling into utter confusion and 
placing almost every word precisely where 
it ought not to be. lu learning to write, let 
this be your next care. 

Probably it will demand much toil at first 
in rewriting for the sake of redistributing 
your words ; acquired habit of long standing 
will unconsciously mould your sentences to 
the accustomed shape; but persevere and 
you will certainly succeed at last, and your 
words will express your thoughts precisely 
as you think them, and as you desire that 
they should be impressed upon the minds of 
those to whom they are addressed. 

So with the sentences. Let each be com- 
plete in itself, embodying one proposition. 
4 



32 



EXERCISES IN COMPO^ilION. 



Shun that tangled skein in which some 
writers involve themselves, to the perplexity 
of their readers and their own manifest be- 
wilderment. When you find a sentence fall- 
ing into such a maze, halt and retrace your 
steps. Cancel what you have done, and re- 
flect what you design to say. Set clearly 
before your mind the ideas that you had be- 
gun to mingle; disentangle them, range them 
in orderly array, and express them in distinct 
sentences, where each will stand separate, 
but in its right relationship to all the rest. 



This exercise will improve, not only youf 
skill in the art of writing, but also in the art 
of thinking, for those involved sentences are 
almost always the result of confused thoughts; 
the resolve to write clearly will compel you 
to think clearly, and you will be surprised 
to discover how often thoughts, which had 
appeared to you definite in contemplation, 
are found, when you come to set them 
upon paper, to be most incomplete anci 
shadowy. Knowing the fault, you can then 
put your wits to work and furnish the remedy. 



Exercises in Composition. 



SIMPLE SENTENCES. 




SUBJECT AND PREDICATE. 

HE sentence 'John writes' consists of 
two parts :— 

(i) The name of the person of whom we are speak- 
ing, — Jolm 
and 
(2) What we say about John, — writes. 

Similarly the sentence * Fire burns ' con- 
sists of two parts: — 

(i) The name of the thing of which we are speak - 
mg,— _/fr<?. 

(2) What we say about fire, — burns. 

Every sentence has two such parts. 

The name of the person or thing spoken 
about is called the Subject. 

What is said about the Subject is called 
the Predicate. 

Exercise 1. 

Point out the Subjects and the Predicates. 

William sings. Birds fly. ^ Sheep bleat. Henry 
is reading. Rain is falling. Rain has fallen. Stars 
are shining. Stars were shining. Cattle are grazing. 
Soldiers are watching. Soldiers watched. . Soldiers 
were watched. School is closed. Donkeys bray Don- 
keys were braying. I am writing. We are reading. 

ExAMPi.ES. — William sings: "William" is the 
subject; "sings" i? the predicate. Henry is read- 



ing: "Henry" is the subject; "is reading" is the 
predicate. In like manner you should go through 
the list and point out the subjects and verbs. 

Exercise 2. 

Place Predicates ( Verbs) after the following 
Subjects: — 

Baby. Babies. Lightning. Flowers. Soldiers. 
Lions. Bees. Gas. The sun. The wind. The 
eagle. Eagles. The ship. Ships. The master. 
The scholars. The cat. Cats. Bakers. A butcher. 
The moon. The stars. Carpenters. The carpen- 
ter. The mower. Porters. Ploughmen. 

Examples. — "Baby" smiles. "Babies" cry. 
"Lightning" strikes. Supply verbs for all the 
subjects. 

Exercise 3. 

Place Subjects before the following Predi- 
cates : — 



Mew. Chatter. Grunt. Ran. 
Is walking. Plays. Played. 
Shrieked. Sings. Sing. Sanj 
Bark. Barks, Cried. Bloom 



Hum. Fly. Howl. 

Fell. Whistled. 
\. Sleeps. Slept. 

Laughed. Soar. 



Swim. Swam. Was swimming. Dawns. Dawned. 
Gallops. Roar. 

Examples. — Cats " mew." Monkeys " chatter." 
Tigs " grunt." Go on and write subjects for all the 
verbs. 





fe^ 




THE DAUGHTER OF THE R EG I M EN T— Suggestion for a Tableau 







CHARACTERS AND COSTUMES SUGGESTED FOR CHILDREN IN 
JUVENILE ENTERTAINMENTS 




JOSEPH JEFFERSON and BLANCHE BENDER 

in "Rip Van Winkle." 

(Suggestion for Tableau.) 





'NDIAN COSTUME— Suggestion for a Tableau 






I 




THE SICK CHILD. 

(Suggestion For Tableau.) 

"Jessie tired, -mamma; good-night, papa; Jessie see yoU 
in the morning. ' ' 




AN OLD TIME TEA 

(Suggestion for Tableau) 






I 



I 



CHERRY RIPE, RIPE, RIPE, I CRY, 

FULL AND FAIR ONES— COME AND BUYl 



L 




A STUDY IN ATTITUDES 



I 




THE GODDESS OF LIBERTY 

(Suggrestion For Tableau) 



R • 





RECITATION IN COSTUME 

WHOEVER WOULD BRING DOWN HER GAME, 
MUST STRING HER BOW AND TAKE SURE AIM. 




A LITTLE CHILD'S PRAYKR. 

(Suggestion For Tableau.) 

"Jesus I would be like thee, 
Look from heaven and pity me. 
Though so full of sin I am, 
Make me now thy little lamb.'* 



k 





NOBODY'S CHILD 

(Suggestion for Tableau) 

All day I wander to and fro 

Hungry and shivering and nowhere to go 

Oh ! Why docs the wind blow upon me so wild? 

Is it because I'm nobody's child?" 



I 




SHF HAD SO MANY CHILDREN SHE DIDN'T KNOW 
WHAT TO DO 



L 




f 4 f 



THEY TELL ME I MUST DO IT JUST SO, 

I WONDER IF THEY THINK THAT I DON'T K MOW. 




OUR f REAT GRANDPARENTS WERE ONCE YOUNG, TOO. 
AND THIS IS THE WAY THEY USED TO 00, 



I 

L 








I'M NOT QUITE SURE I'LL TAKE YOU FOR MY MAID;" 
WELL NOBODY ASKED YOU TO," SHE SAID. 



r 



exf:rcises in composition. 



33 



SUBJECT, PREDICATE, AND OBJECT. 
The Predicate always is, or contains, a 
Verb. In many sentences the Predicate is 
a Verb alone. When it is a Verb in the 
Active Voice, it has an Object, thus : — 



Subject. 


Predicate. 


Object. 


Parents 


love 


chil iren. 


Children 


obey 


parents. 


Boys 


write 


essays. 


_ Haste 


makes 


waste. 



\ 



Exercise 4. 

IPick'OUt the Subjects.^ Predicates, and Objects, 
Soldiers ifight battles. Tom missed Fred. Mary 
? is minding .iaaby. Job showed patience. Abraham 
thad faith. lEo^mulus founded Rome. Titus captured 
•Jerusalem. Arthur loves father. Walter threw a 
; stone. Tom brojce a window. The servant swept 
tthe room. Masons build houses. The girl is milk- 
iing the cov^r. The dog bit the beggar. Artists paint 
pictures. I am expecting a letter. We have won 
prizes. 

Examples. — The word "■ soldiers " is the subject ; 
•'fight" is the predicate; "battles" is the object. 
"Tom" is the subject; "missed" is the predicate; 
" Fred" is the object. You do not need to be con- 
fined to the sentences here given ; write others of 
your own, and name the subjects, verbs and objects. 

Exercise 5. 

You will readily understand what is requirv,d to 
complete the sentences in Exercises 5, 6 and 7. A 
poet writes poems. The smith strikes the iron, etc. 

Supply Predicates. 

A poet . . . poems. The smith . . . the iron. 
Horses . . . carts. Cows . . . grass. Cats . . . 
milk. The sexton . . . the bell. The horse . . . 
the groom, Grocers . . . sugar. The hounds . . , 
the fox. Birds . . . nests. The gardener . , . 

V the flowers. Miss Wilson ... a ballad. Horses 
. . . hay. The dog , . . the thief. The banker 
... a purse. Tailors . . . coats. Brewers . . . 

I beer. The girl ... a rose. 

Exercise 6. 

, Supply Objects, 

The servant broke . . . The cook made . . . 

The hunter killed . . . Farmers till . . . Sol- 

' diers fight . . . Tom missed . . . Mary is 

. minding . . . Romulus founded . . . Titus 



captured . . . Caesar invaded . . . The gar- 
dener sowed . . . Somebody stole . . . Artists 
paint . . . The sailor lost . . . Children learn 
. . . Authors write . . . Farmers grow . . . 
Birds build ... I admire ... We like . . , 
I hurt . . . 

Exercise 7. 

Supply Subjects. 

. . . dusted the room. ... is drawing a load. 

. . . loves me. . . . met Tom. . . . caught 
the thief. . . grow flowers. ... bit the beg- 
gar. . . . won the prize. . . . has lost the dog. 

. . . has killed the cat. . . . felled a tree. . . . 
are singing songs. ... is making a pudding. 

... is expecting a letter. . . . gives light. 

. . . makes shoes. . . . sold a book. . . . 
like him. . . . likes him. 

Enlarged Subject. 
Subjects may be enlarged by Adjuncts. 
Thus the sentence " Boys work " may, by 
additions to the subject, become 

The boys work. 
These boys work. 
Good boys work. 
My boys work. 

The good boys of the village work. 
The good boys of the village^ wishing to please 
their master, work. 

Exercise 8. 

Point out the Subject and its Adjuncts. 

Tom's brother has arrived. The careless boy will 
be punished. The laws of the land have been 
broken. The sweet flowers are blooming. The 
poor slave is crying. The boat, struck by a great 
wave, sank. The little child, tired of play, is sleep- 
ing. A short letter telUng the good news has been 
sent. 

Exercise 9. 

Add Adjuncts to each Subject, 

Birds fly. Sheep bleat Stars are shining. Cat- 
tle are grazing. Soldiers are watching. Donkeys 
bray. Lightning is flashing. The sun is shining. 
The scholars are studying. The ploughman is 
whistling. Monkeys chatter. Pigs grunt. The Jark 
is soaring. Lions roar. 

Enlarged Objects. 
Objects, like Subjects, may be enlarged by 
Adjuncts. Thus the sentence "Boys learn 



34 



EXERCISES IN COMPOSITION. 



lessons ' 
become 



may, by additions to the Object, 



Boys learn the lessons. 

Boys learn their lessons. 

Boys learn home lessons. 

Boys learn difficult lessons. 

Boys learn lessons about Verbs. 
' Boys learn the lessons set by Mr. Edwards. 

Boys learn the difficult home lessons about Verbs 
set by Mr. Edwards. 

Exercise 10. 

Point out the Object and its Adjuncts. 

The servant dusted every room. Fred loves his 
sweet little sister. We have rented a house at Bar- 
mouth. We saw our neighbor's new Shetland pony. 
I am reading a book written by my father. The 
policeman caught the man accused of theft. The 
gardener is hoeing the potatoes planted by him in 
the early spring. 

Exercise 11. 

Add Adjuncts to each Object. 

The soldiers fought battles. Mary is minamg 
baby. Walter threw a stone. Tom broke a window. 
The servant swept the room. The girl is milking the 
cow. The dog bit the beggar. The artist painted 
pictures. I am expecting a letter. We have won 
prizes. The fire destroyed houses. The general 
gained a victory. The engineer made a railway. 
The children drowned the kittens. We have bought 
books. He teaches geography. 

Enlarged Predicate. 

Predicates, like Subjects and Objects, may 
be enlarged by Adjuncts. Thus the sentence 
" Boys work " may, by additions to the Pre- 
dicate, become 

Boys work diligently. 

Boys work now. 

Boys work in school. 

Boys work to please their teacher. 

Boys work diligently now in school to please their 
teacher. 

Exercise 12. 

Pick out Predicate and its Adjuncts, 
Tom's brother will come to-morrow. The careless 
^irl was looking off her book. The laws of the land 
were often broken by the rude mountaineers. Pretty 
flowers grow in my garden all through the spring. 
The poor slave was crying bitterly over the loss of 



his child. The corn is waving in the sun. The great 
bell was tolling slowly for the death of the President- 
The trees are bowing before the strong wind. I am 
going to Montreal with my father next week. 

Exercise 13. 

Add Adjuncts to each Predicate in Exercises 
8, 9, lo and ii. 

Verbs of Incomplete Predication. 
Some Verbs do not convey a complete 
idea, and therefore cannot be Predicates by 
themselves. Such Verbs are called Verbs 
of Incomplete Predication, and the words 
added to complete the Predicate are called 
the Complement. 

Examples of Verbs of Incomplete Predication. 

The words, "London is," do not contain a com- 
plete idea. Add the words, "a great city,'' and you 
have a complete sentence, " William was/' needs a 
complement, and you can finish the sentence by 
writing, "Duke of Normandy." 

Exercise 14. 

Point ottt the Verbs of Incomplete Predica- 
tion and the Complements. 

TVou art the man. I am he. It is good. He is 
here. The house is to be sold. The horse is in the 
stable. The gun was behind the door. Jackson is 
a very good gardener. Those buds will be pretty 
flowers. Old King Cole was a merry old soul. I'm 
the chief of Ulva's isle. William became King of 
England. The girl seems to be very happy. The 
general was made Emperor of Rome. 

Supply Complements. 

London is . . . Paris is . . . Jerusalem was 
. . . The boy will be . . . He has become . . . 
We are ... I am . . . He was . . . Richard 
became . . . The prisoners are . - The man 
was . . . Those birds are . . . Grass is . . . 
Homer was . . . The child was . . . The sun is 
. . . The stars are . . . The sheep were . . . 
Charleston is . . . Havana was . . . 

PRACTICE IN SIMPLE SENTENCES. 

A sentence when written should always 
begin with a capital letter, and nearly always 
end with a full stop. 



EXERCISES IN COMPOSITION. 



35 



A sentence which is a question ends with a note of 
interrogation (?), and one which is an exclamation 
ends with a note of admiration or exclamation (!). 

Exercise 15. 

Make sentences about 

Fire. The sun. The moon. The sea. Bread. 
Butter. Cheese. Wool. Cotton. Linen. Boots. 
Hati. A coat. The table. The window. The desk. 
Fens. Ink. Paper. Pencils. Lead. Iron. Tin. 
Copper. Gold. Silver. A knife. The clock. 
Books. Coal. The servant, A chair. Breakfast. 
Dinner. Supper. The apple. The pear. Oranges. 
Lemons. Water. Milk. Coffee. Tea. Cocoa. 
Maps. Pictures. 

Exercise 16. 

Make sentences introducing the following 
pairs of words : 

Fire, grate. Sun, earth. Moon, night. Bread, 
flour. Pen, steel. Wool, sheep. Cotton, America. 
Boots, leather. Ink, black. Paper, rags. Walk, 
fields. Pair, gloves. Learning, to paint. Brother, 
arm. Wheel, cart. London, Thames. Bristol, 
Avon. Dublin, Ireland. Paris, France. Colum- 
bus, America. Shakespeare, poet. Threw, window. 
Useful, metal. Carpet, new. Wall, bricklayer. 
Road, rough. Lock, cupboard, Jug, full. Hawaii, 
island. Pencils, made. Drew, map. 

Exercise 17. 

Write complete sentences in answer to the 
following questions : — 

Example. Question. What is your name ? 

Answer. My name is John Smith. 



If you said simply ''John Smith " your answer would 
not be a complete sentence. 

What is your name ? When were you born ? How 
old are you ? Where do you live ? How long have 
you lived there ? What school do you attend ? Of 
what games are you fond ? During what part of the 
year is football played ? And lawn-tennis ? Are you 
learning Latin ? And French ? And German ? Can 
you swim ? And row .^ And ride ? And play the 
piano ? Do you like the sea ? Have you ever been 
on the sea ? Have you read '* Robinson Crusoe?" 
What is the first meal of the day ? And the second? 
And the third? Where does the sun rise? And 
set? How many days are there in a week ? 
And in a year ? And in leap year ? How often 
does leap year come ? 

Exercise 18. 

Make three sentences about each of the fol- 
lowing: — 

The place where you live. France. India. Aus- 
tralia. America. A horse. A cow. A dog. A 
sheep. A Hon. A tiger. Spring. Summer. Au- 
tumn. Winter. The sun. The moon. Stars. Ho/ 
days. Boys' games. Girls* games. A railway. 1 
steam-engine. The sea. A ship. Flowers. Fruits. 
A garden. Wool. Cotton. Leather. Silk. Water. 
Milk. Rice. Wheat. Books. Tea. Coffee. Sugar. 
Cocoa. Paper. Houses. Bricks. Stone. A 
field. Guns. A watch. A farm. Knives. Bees. 
Shellfish. Fresh-water fish. Coal. Glass. Gas. 
The United States. New York. The Mississippi. 
Canada. Indians. Chicago. St. Louis. Oak- 
land. Philadelphia. Bicycle. Golf. 



Exercise 19. 

Combine each of the following facts into a sentence and write it out: 

Example : Take the first name below, thus : — " Joseph Addison, the essayist, was born at Milston in 
Wiltshire, in the year 1672." Pursue the same plan with all the other sets of facts here furnished. 



Name. 


What he was. 


Where born. 


When born. 


Joseph Addison 


Essayist 


Milston, Wiltshire 


1672 


William Blake 


Poet and painter 


London 


1757 


John Bunyan 


Author of the " Pilgrim's 
Progress '* 


Elstow, Bedfordshire 


1628 


Lord Byron 


Great English poet 


London 


1788 


Geoffrey Chaucer 


Great English poet 


London (probably) 


About 1344 


George Washington 


First President of the Uni- 
ted States 


Virginia 


1732 


Justin S. Morrill 


United States Senator 


Vermont 


1810 


William McKinley 


President of the United 
States 


Ohio 


1844 



36 



EXERCISES IN COMPOSITION. 



Name. What he was. 

Matthew Arnold Poet and essayist 

r3aniel Defoe Author of " Robinson Cru- 

soe" 
Menry Fielding Novelist 

Henry Hallam Historian 

William Shakespeare Greatest English poet 
William H. Gladstone Great Enghsh statesman 
Henry W. Longfellow American poet 
Abraham Lincoln President of the United 

States 



Battle. 
Senlac, near Hastings 
Lannockburn 
Cressy 
Waterloo 
Marston Moor 

Bull Run 



Date 
1066 
1314 
1346 
1815 
1644 

1861 



Where he died. 


When he died. 


Liverpool 


1888 


London 


1731 


Lisbon 


1754 


Penshurst 


1859 


Stratford-on-Avon 


1616 


Ha warden 


1898 


Cambridge 


1882 


Washington 


1865 


Between. 


Victor. 


English and Normans 


Normans 


Enghsh and Scotch 


Scotch 


Enghsh and French 


English 


Enghsh and French 


English 


Royahsts and Parhamen- 


Parliamentarians 


tarians 




Unionists and Confeder- 


Confederates 


ates 




Americans and Spaniards 


Americans 



Manila 1898 

These facts should be combined into sentences in various ways, thug : 

The Normatis defeated the English at Senlac, near Hastings, in the year 1066. 

The English were defeated by the Normans at Senlac, near Hastings, z>z the year 1066. 

/n the year 1066, at Senlac^ near Hastings, the Nonnans beat the English, et^.^ etc. 



Place. 

Enghsti Channel 
Westminster 



Yorktown 
Santiago 



Eve7it. 

Printing introduced into 
England 

Discovery of America 

^^efeat of the Spanish Ar- 
mada 

Gunpowder Plot 

Conquest of England 

'Surrender of British 
Destruction of Spanish 
fleet 

SENTENCES COMBINED. 

A number of simple sentences may some- 
times be combined so as to form one. 

Example: — The girl was little. She lost her doll. 
Tlie doll was pretty. It was new. She lost it yester- 
day. She lost it in the afternoon. 

These sentences maybe combined in one, thus: — 
The little girl lost her pretty new doll yesterday 
afternoon. 

The combined sentence tells us as much 
as the separate sentences, and tells it in a 
shorter, clearer, and more pleasing way. 



Date. 


Persv.,, 


1476 


William Caxton 


1492 


Christopher Columbus 


J 588 


Howard, Drake and others 


1605 


Guy Fawkes and others 


1066 


William, Duke of Nor- 




mandy 


1781 


Lord Cornwallis 


1898 


Admiral Schley 



Exercise 20. 

Combine the following sets of sentences : — 

1. The man is tall. He struck his head. He was 
entering a carriage. The carriage was low. 

2. Tom had a slate. It was new. He broke it. 
He broke it this morning. 

3. The cow is black. She is grazing in a meadow. 
The meadow is beside the river. 

4. The apples are ripe. They grow in an orchard. 
The orchard is Mr. Brown's. 

5. The corn is green. It is waving. The breeze 
causes it to wave. The breeze is gentle. 

6. The father is kind. He bought some clothes. 




1^ 



How olGlhoA/'^^inKy^lKil 
IKE A CRICKSTIN A nJLL 



I 




HOW PADEREWSKl PLAYS THE FIANO 



— ^ ,- ^.. .. ., :: ss,*^i/ 








r/t/S U/iJOfjb MZflf^T TO YOU 

8£ATS our m LOVE 



^^ 



GENERAL WHEELER AT SANTIAGO 



EXERCISES IN COMPOSITION. 



37 



The clothes were new. He bought them for the chil- 
dren. The children were good. 

7. The } )y was careless. He made blots. The 
blots were oig. They were made on his book. The 
book was clean. 

8. The bucket was old. Jt was made of oak. It 
fell. It fell into the well. The well was deep. 

9. Polly Flinders was little. She sat. She sat 
among the cinders. She was warming her toes. Her 
toes were pretty. They were little. 

10. Tom Tucker is little. He is singing. He is 
singing for his supper. 

11. There were three wise men. They lived at 
Gotham. They went to sea. They went in a 
bowl. They had a rough trip. 

12. The man came. He was the man in the moon. 
He came down soon. He came too soon. 

13. I saw ships. There were three. They came 
sailing. They sailed by. I saw them on Christmas 
day. I saw them in the morning. 

14. Cole was a king. He was old. He was a 
merry soul. 

1 5. A great battle began. It was between the Eng- 
lish and the Scotch. It began next morning. It 
began at break of day. It was at Bannockburn. 

Sentences are often combined by means of 
Conjunctions or other connecting words. 

Sentences are combined, by means of the 
Conjunction and. 

Examples : — i. The boy is good. The boy is 
clever. 

2. WilHam is going to school. John is going to 
school. 

3. I admire my teacher. I love my teacher. 

These may be combined into single sen- 
tences, as follows: — 

1. The boy is good and clever. 

2. William and John are going to school. 

3. I admire and love my teacher. 

Note the use of the comma when more 
than two words or sets of words are joined 
by and : — 

I met Fred, Will and George. 

Faith, Hope and Charity are sometimes called the 
Christian Graces. 

I bought a pound of tea, two pounds of coffee, ten 
pounds of sugar and a peck of flour. 

The comma is used in the same way with or. 



Exercise 21. 

Combine the following set of sentences by 
means of the Conjunction and : — 

1. Jack went up the hill. Jill went up the hill. 

2. The Hon beat the unicorn. The lion drove t) e 
unicorn out of town. 

3. Edward is honest. Edward is truthful. 

4. The child is tired. The child is sleepy. 

5. Tom will pay us a visit. Ethel will pay us \ 
visit. Their parents will pay us a visit. 

6. The grocer sells tea. He sells coffee. He sells 
sugar. 

7. Maud deserves the prize. She will get it. 

8. Coal is a mineral. Iron is a mineral. Copper 
is a mineral. Lead is a mineral. 

9. The boy worked hard. He advanced rapidly. 

10. Little drops of water, little grains of sand makf 
the mighty ocean. Little drops of water, little grains 
of sand make the pleasant land. 

Sentences are combined by means of the 
Conjunction or, thus: — 

1. The boy is lazy. The boy is stupid. 

2. I want a pen. I want a pencil. 

3. The horse is lost. The horse is stolen. 

These sentences may be combined as fol 
lows : — 

1. The boy is lazy or stupid. 

2. I want a pen or a pencil. 

3. The horse is lost or stolen. 

Remember to put in the commas when 
more than two words or sets of words are 
joined by <?r, thus: — 

We could have tea, coffee or cocoa. 

The beggar asked for a piece of bread, a glass oi 
milk or a few pennies. 

Exercise 22. 

Combine the following sets of sentences by 
means of the Conjunction or: — 

1. The child was tired. The child was sleepy. 

2. My father will meet me at the station. My 
mother will meet me at the station. 

3. Will you have tea ? Will you have coffee ? 

4. The colonel must be present. One of the other 
officers must be present. 

5. The cup was broken by the servant. The cup 
was broken by the dog. The cup was broken by the 
cat. 



38 



EXERCISES IN COMPOSITION. 



6. I must find the book, I must buy another. 

7. The horse is in the stable. The horse is in the 
barnyard. The horse is in the meadow. 

8. The prize will be gained by Brown. The prize 
will be gained by Smith. The prize will be gained 
by Jones. 

Sentences may be combined by either . . . 
or, and neither . . . 7ior, thus : — 

James was at school this morning. His sister was 
at school this morning. 

These sentences may be combined thus :■ — 

Either James or his sister Avas at school this morn- 
ing. 

Neither James nor his sister was at school this 
morning. 

Exercise 23. 

Combi7ie the following sets of sentences : — 
(a) By either ... or. (b) By neither . . . nor. 

1. The man can read. The man can write. 

2. He is deaf. He is stupid. 

3. That shot will strike the horse. That shot will 
strike the rider. 

4. The king was weak in mind. The king was 
weak in body. 

5. The king was loved. The queen was loved. 

6. The cow is for sale. The calf is for sale. 

Sentences may be combined by both , . . 
and, thus : — 

The man is tired. The h irse is tired. 

These sentences mpy be combined in the 
following : — 

Both the man and the horse are tired. 

Exercise 24. 

Combine^ by means of both . . . and, the 
sets of sentences given in Exercise 23. 

Sentences may be combined by means of 
Conjunctions of Cause, Consequence or Con- 
dition, s:uch as if, though^ although, because^ 
thus : — 

1. You are tired. You may rest. 

2. The boy was not bright. He was good. 

3. He is liked. He is good tempered. 

Combine these sentences as follows : — 

1. If you are tired you may rest. 

2. Though the boy was not bright he was good. 

3. He is liked because he is good tempered. 



Exercise 25. 

Combine the following sets of sentences .- — 

(a) By means of if. ^ 

1. You will get the prize. You deserve it. 

2. He might have succeeded. He had tried. 

3. You are truthful. You will be believed. 

4. Send for me. You want me. 

5. You do not sow. You cannot expect to reap 

6. You are waking. Call me early. 

7. I will come with you. You wish it. 

8. We had known you were in town. We should 
have called on you. 

(b) By means ^thoug^h or although. 

9. The man was contented. He was poor. 

10. The little girl has travelled much. She is 
young. 

11. The story is true. You do not believe it. 

12. He spoke the truth. He was not believed. 

13. It was rather cold. The day was pleasant. 

14. He is often told of his faults. He does not 
mend them. 

(c) By means of because ; also by means 
of as and since. 

16. 1 came. You called me. 

17. I will stay. You wish it. 

18. The dog could not enter. The ^ole W3c too 
small. 

19. You are tired. You may rest. 

20. Freely we serve. We freely love, 

21. The hireling fleeth. He is a hireling. 

22. We love him. He first loved us. 

Sentences may be combined by means of 
Conjunctive Adverbs (such as where with its 
compounds, also when, whence, why), and of 
Conjunctions of Time (such as after, before 
while, ere, tilly until, since). 

Exercise 26. 

Combine, by means of one of the words given 
in the last paragraph^ the following sets: o^ 
sentences : 

1. This is the place. My brolh-e* worTcs. 

2. Mary went. The lamk was sure to go. 

3. The boy was reading. His master cam<i up. 

4. The moon. rose. The sun had set. 

5. It is now three months. We heard from our 
cousin. 

6. Do not go out. The storm has abated 



EXERCISES IN COMPOSITION. 



39 



7. The man arrived. We were speaking to him. 

8. 1 rem^^inber the house. I was born. 

9. I know a bank. The wild thyme blows. 

10. There is the field. The money was found. 

11. The workman did not hear. He was called. 

12. He goes out riding. He can find time. 

Supply the omitted clauses : 

The tree is still lying where . . , Wherever 
. . . was my poor dog Tray. William came after 
. . . My brother cannot stay till . . . The 

merchant has been here since ... Go where 
. . . Smooth runs the water where . . . She 

stayed till ... The boy has worked hard since 
. . . We shall be pleased to see you whenever 
. . . The train had gone before . . . The little 

girl was tired after . . . Make hay while . . . 

Sentences may be combined by means of 
Relative Pronouns, thus : 

1. That is the boy. The boy broke the window. 

2. That is the man. The man's window was 
t)roken. 

3. Mary is the girl. You want Mary. 

4. This is the house. Jack built the house. 

5. The knife was lost. The knife cost fifty cents. 

Combine as follows : 

1. That is the boy who broke the window. 

2. That is the man whose window was broken. 

3. Mary is the girl whom you want. 

4. This is the house that Jack built. 

5. The knife which was lost cost fifty cents. 

Exercise 27. 
Combine, as in the exa^nples just given, the 
following pairs of sentences : 

1. The boy is crying. The boy is called Tom. 

2. The man was hurt. The man is better now. 

3. The grocer has sent for the police. The gro- 
cer's goods were stolen. 

4. The child is very naughty. The father pun- 
ished the child. 

5. My uncle gave me the book. The book is on 
the table. 

6. The horse goes well. I bought the horse. 

7. The lady sings beautifully. You see the lady. 

8. They did not hear the preacher. They went to 
hear the preacher. 

9. The gentleman is very kind to ftie poor. You 
see the gentleman's house. 

10. I have just bought an overcoat. The overcoat 
is waterproof. 



1 1 . The tree was a chestnut. The wind blew the 
tree down. 

12. Tom had just been given the dollar. He 
lost it. 

13. The boy drove away the birds. The birds 
were eating the corn. 

14. The girl is very clever. You met her brother 

15. The dog fetched the birds. Its master had 
shot them. 

16. Where is the book 1 You borrowed it. 

17. The cow has been found. It was lost. 

PUNCTUATION. 
If the proper stops are left out, the mean- 
ing of a sentence may be doubtful. Take, 
for example, the toast at a pubHc dinner : 

Woman without her man is a brute. 

This might mean that woman without man is a 
brute. Punctuate the sentence correctly by the right 
use of the comma, and you will see that the meaning 
is quite different. Thus : Woman, without her, man 
is a brute. 

The misplacing of the stops may make 
nonsense of a sentence. Take the sentence : 

Csesar entered, on his head his helmet, on his feet 
sandals, in his hand his trusty sword, in his eye an 
an gr)- glare. 

This may become: Csesar entered on his head, 
his helmet on his feet, sandals in his hand, his 
trusty sword in his eye, an angry glare. 

The barber's sign also had two meanings accord- 
ing to its punctuation : 

1 . What do you think ? 

I shave you for nothing and give you a drink. 

2. What! Do you think 

I shave you for nothing and give you a drink? 

The Full Stop. 
A Full Stop is placed at the end of every 
sentence. 

Exercise 28. 

Insert full stops where wanted. Place a 
capital letter after each. 

The old man was sitting under a tree the house 
was burned the roses were scattered by the wind the 
carpet was beaten this morning the mower was bitten 
by a snake that book is liked England was conquered 
by WiUiam the corn Avas ground by the miller the 
father was called by a little girl the cheeses were 
eaten by mice that fish is caught with a hook the 



40 



EXERCISES IN COMPOSITION. 



flowers were gathered by Ellen that carving is much 
admired the lady was nearly stunned snow had newly 
fallen the sun had just risen the moon was almost 
setting Amelia is always reading Nelly had often 
driven the horse the week has quickly gone the bells 
were merrily ringing. 

Examples : — The old man was sitting under a 
tree. The house was burned. The roses were scat- 
tered by the wind, etc. 

Write the following^ insert stops where 
waftted, and make good sense of it. 

The celebrated Rabelais was once staying at a 
remote country inn he wished to go to Paris but had 
no money to pay his traveling expenses he therefore 
hit upon a plan of traveling at the expense of the 
government out of brickdust he made up three little 
parcels on the first he wrote " For the king" on the 
second " For the king's son " on the third "For the 
king's brother" the landlord seeing these on the 
table where they had been purposely left sent word 
to the king's ministers they ordered a messenger to 
fetch the traitor when he reached Paris he was recog- 
nized he proved that he was no traitor and his trick 
was discovered. 

Example:— The celebrated Rabelais was once 
staying at a remote country inn. He wished to go 
to Paris, but had no money to pay his travehng 
expenses. He, therefore, hit upon a plan of travel- 
ing, etc. 

ExerolBe 29. 

Correct the punctuation. 

A farmer had several sons. Who used to quarrel 
with one another. He tried to cure them of this bad 
habit. By pointing out how foolish and wicked it 
was. But he found. That he did no good. By 
talking to them. So one day he laid a bundle of 
sticks before them. And he bade them break it. 
The eldest put out all his strength. But in vain. 
The other sons tried in vain. But they all failed. 
Then the father. Untying the bundle. Gave his 
sons the separate sticks to break. And they broke 
them easily. " Remember," he said, " the lesson. 
Which this bundle teaches. While you help each 
other. None can harm you. When you quarrel. 
You are easily hurt.'' 

The Note of Interrogation. 

Every direct question is followed by a 
Jfote of Interroj^ation ; as, "How do you 



do?' "When did you see your father?'^ 
" I suppose, sir, you are a doctor?'^ 

Sometimes a question forms part of a larger 
sentence, as. 

They put this question to the committee, "Willi 
you grant us a hearing?" in a manner that proved^ 
their earnestness. 

Except in such cases, a note of interroga- 
tion is always followed by a capital letter. 

Carefully observe the full stops and notes of 
interrogation in the following : 

A Paris fortune-teller was arrested and brought 
before a magistrate. He said to her, " You know 
how to read the future?" "I do, sir." "Then you 
know what sentence I mean to pass on you?" 
"Certainly." "Well, what will happen to you?" 
''Nothing." "You are sure of it?" "Yes." "Why?" 
'• Because if you had meant to punish me you would 
not be cruel enough to mock me." 

Exercise 30. 

Insert full stops and notes of interrogation. 

Is the gardener pruning the trees has the baker 
been here is the teacher liked were those roses cut 
to-day had the gentleman lost his hat was the thief 
caught is the water boiling have the girls learned their 
Doetry has the window been broken was the ship 
viccked has the crew been saved was Susan knitting 
will Mr. Robinson sing has Frank started 

A boy was going away without his mother's leave 
she called after him "Where are you going, sir'' 
" To the village " '* What for '' " To buy ten cents 
worth of nails " "And what do you want ten cents 
worth of nails for " " For a nickel " 

The Comma. 

The Comma is the most frequently used 
of all stops. 

As a general rule, it may be stated that 
when, in reading, a slight pause is made, a 
comma should be inserted in writing; thus; — 

The Spaniards were no match for the Roosevelt 
fighters, however, and, as had been the case at 
La Quasina, the Western cowboys and Eastern 
" dandies " hammered the enemy from their path. 
Straight ahead they advanced, until by noon they 
were well along toward San Juan, the capture of which 
was their immediate object. Fighting hke demons, 
they held their ground tenaciously, now pressing for- 



EXERCISES IN COMPOSITION. 



41 



ward a few feet, then falling back, under the enemy's 
fire, to the position they held a few moments before. 
Without books God is silent, justice dormant, 
natural science at a stand, philosophy lame, letters 
dumb and all things involved in Cimmerian dark- 
ness. 

When a Noun or Pronoun in Apposition 
is very closely connected with the preceding 
{word, no comma is needed, as, 

William the Conqueror. 
My cousin Fred. 
Cromwell the Protector. 

When the connection is not so close, or 
when the words in apposition are qualified, 
the phrase should have commas before and 
after, as, 

WilUam, the Norman conqueror of England, lived 
a stormy life. 

My cousin, the bold and gallant Fred, fell in battle. 
Cromwell, the great Protector, died in 1658. 

Exercise 31. 

Insert the necessary commas. 

Napoleon the fallen emperor was sent to St. 
Helena. I live in Washington the capital of the 
United States. The children love their uncle Mr. 
Holmes. That coat was made by Brown the village 
tailor. It was the lark the herald of the morn Tom 
the piper's son stole a pig. Frank the jockey's leg 
is broken, Rome the city of the emperors became 
the city of the popes. He still feels ambition the 
last infirmity of noble minds. Julius Caesar a great 
Roman general invaded Britain. 

Examples : — Napoleon, the fallen emperor, was 
sent to St, Helena. I live in Washington, the capital, 
etc. The children love their uncle, Mr, Holmes, etc_ 

A Nominative of Address is marked off 
by commas, as, 

Are you, sir, waiting for anyone ? 

Should the Nominative of Address have 
any qualifying words joined to it, the whole 
phrase is marked off by commas, as, 

How now, my man of mettle, what is it you want ? 

Exercise 32. 

Insert the necessary commas. 

O Romeo wherefore art thou Romeo? In truth 
fair Montague I am too fond. O grave where is thy 



victory ? I pray you sire to let me b^ve the honor„ 
Exult ye proud patricians. Put on thy strength O' 
Zion. My name dear saint is hateful to myself. I. 
am sorry friend that my vessel is already chosen.. 

night and darkness ye are wondrous strong. Goodi 
morrow sweet Hal. Now my good sweet honey lord' 
ride with us to-morrow. Come my masters let us 
share. For mine own part my lord I could be well 
content to be there. 

Examples ; — O Romeo, wherefore art thou, Ro- 
meo ? In truth, fair Montague, I am too fond. I 
pray you, sire, to let me have the honor, etc. 

An Adverbial phrase or clause let into a 
sentence should be marked off by commas, as, 

His story was, in several ways, improbable. 
The letter was written, strange to say, on club 
paper. 

A time there was, ere England's griefs began. 
When every rood of ground maintained its man. 
They sat, as sets the morning star, which goes 
Not down behind the darkened west. 

Exercise 33. 

Supply commas where necessary. 

You will hear in the course of the meeting a full 
account of the business. The story is however true. 
The wounded man is according to the latest news 
doing well. He arrived in spite of difficulties at his 
journey's end. He explains with perfect simplicity 
vast designs affecting all the governments of Europe. 
In France indeed such things are done. I will when 

1 see you tell you a secret. I had till you told me 
heard nothing of the matter. There where a few 
torn shrubs the place disclose the village preacher's 
modest mansion rose. You may if you call again 
see him. You cannot unless you try harder hope to 
succeed. 

Examples : — You will hear, in the course of the 
meeting, a full account, etc. The story is, however, 
true. You cannot, unless you try harder, hope to 
succeed, etc. 

Words, phrases, or clauses of the same 
kind, coming after one another, must be sep- 
arated by commas, except when joined by 
Conjunctions, as. 

Let Rufus weep, rejoice, stand still or walk . . . 
Let him eat, drink, ask questions or dispute. 
Her lower weeds were all o'er coarsely patched 
With diff"'rent colored rags, black, red, white, yellow. 



42 



EXERCISES IN COMPOSITION. 



On I walked, my face flushed, my feet sore, my 
clothes dusty and my stomach as empty as my purse. 

Exercise 34. 

Supply commas where necessary. 

I met Fred Will and George. Faith hope and 
charity are the Christian graces. The grocer sold 
four pounds of cheese two pounds of bacon and 
seven pounds of sugar. Little drops of water little 
grains of sand make the mighty ocean and the pleas- 
ant land. We could have tea coffee cocoa lemonade 
or ginger beer. The beggar asked for a piece of 
bread a glass of milk or a few pence. The prize will 
be won by Smith Brown or Jones. The first second 
third and fourth boys in the class will be promoted. 

Examples : — I met Fred, W^ill and George. Faith, 
hope and charity are, etc. The first, second, third 
and fourth boys, etc. 

A participial phrase is generally marked 
off by commas ; as, 
The general, seeing his soldiers turn, galloped up to 

them. 
The baby lying asleep, the children were very quiet. 

Exercise 35. 

Insert commas where necessary. 

James leaving the country William was made 
king. The storm having abated the ships ventured 
to sail. Henry returning victorious the people went 
forth to meet him. My friend Sir Roger being a good 
churchman has beautified the inside of his church 
The woman being in great trouble was weeping. 
Fearing the storm we returned. 

Examples : — James leaving the country, William 
was made king. Fearing the storm, we returned, 
etc. 

Exercise 36. 

Insert commas where necessary in the follow- 
ing se?itences : — 

On their bridal trip they took a palace car went 
down the Cumberland Valley stopped awhile at 
a watering place and wondered at the divorce cases 
recorded in the newspapers. 

In those distant days as in all other times and 
places where the mental atmosphere is changing and 
men are inhahng the stimulus of new ideas folly often 
mistook itself for wisdom ignorance gave itself airs 
of knowledge and selfishness turning its eyes up- 
ward called itself religion — George Eliot. 

When I was running about this town a very poor 



fellow I was a great arguer for the advantages of 
poverty but I was at the same time \ery sorry to be 
^oor.— Johnson. 

Sail on Three Bells forever 
In grateful memory sail ! 
Ring on Three Bells of rescue 
Above the wave and gale I 

As thine in night and tempest 

I hear the Master's cry 
And tossing through the darkness 

The lights of God draw nigh. 

Whittier. 

The Semi-colon. 

It may be generally stated that a Semi- 
colon is used in a complex sentence when 
a comma would not be a sufficient division. 

Co-ordinate clauses or sentences, especially 
if not joined by Conjunctions, arc generally 
separated by semi-colons. 

Examples of the use of semi-colons. 

The first in loftiness of mind surpassed ; 

The next in majesty; in both the last. — Dry den. 

Many a man lives a burden to the earth ; b'^* ~ 
good book is the precious life-blood of a master-spu. ^ 
embalmed and treasured up on purpose to a life be- 
yond life. — Milton. 

All nature is but art unknown to thee ; 

All chance, direction, which thou canst not see ; 

All discord, harmony, not understood ; 

All partial evil universal good. — Pope. 

Exercise 37. 

Supply semi-colons where necessary. 

Of the great men by whom Milton had been dis' 
tinguished at his entrance into life some had been 
taken away from the evil to come some had carried 
into foreign climates their unconquerable hatred of 
oppression some were pining in dungeons and some 
had poured forth their blood on scaffolds. 

Then palaces shall rise the joyful son 
Shall finish what his short-lived sire begun 
Their vines a shadow to their race shall yield 
And the same hand t^at sowed shall reap the field. 

—Pope. 

Examples : — Of the great men by whom Milton 
had been distinguished at his entrance into life, some 
had been taken away from the evil to come; some 
had carried into foreign climates their unconquerable 



EXERCISES IN COMPOSITION. 



43 



» 



hatred of oppression ; some were pining in dungeons^ 
and some had poured forth their blood on scaffolds. 

Then palaces shall rise ; the joyful son 

Shall finish what his short-lived sire begun ; 

Their vines a shadow to their race shall yield ; 

And the same hand that sowed shall reap the field. 

—Pope. 

The Note of Admiration or Exclamation. 
The Note of Admiration or Sxclaniation 
is used 

1. After Interjections ; as, 

Alas ! he is already dead. 

2. After a phrase in the nature of an address or 

exclamation ; as, 
Vital spark of heavenly flame ! 
Quit, oh quit this mortal frame ; 
Trembling, hoping, ling'ring, flying, 
Oh the pain, the bhss of dying ! — Pope. 

3. As a mark of surprise ; as, 

Two and two are five ! 
Prepare the way, a god, a god appears ! 
*' A god ! a god !" the vocal hills reply. 

Exercise 38. 

Insert notes of exclafnation where necessary. 
Alas he is already dead. Alas poor Yorick. Tush 
never tell me that. Well-a-day it is but too true. 
Tut, tut that is all nonsense. Hey come here. O 
for a falconer's voice. Hurrah our side has won- 
Bravo that was well done. Hush the baby is asleep. 
Ah the cowards. Oh what beautiful flowers. Heigh- 
]bn I am tired of waiting. 

Hush hush mee-ow mee-ow 
We smell a rat close by. 
Hurrah, hurrah a single field hath turned the chance 

of war 
Hurrah, hurrah for Ivry and Henry of Navarre 
Ho maidens of Vienna ho matrons of Lucerne, 
Weep, weep for those who never will return. 
Examples : —Alas ! poor Yorick. Tut, tut ! that is 
all nonsense. Bravo ! that was well done, etc. 
Ho ! maidens of Vienna, ho ! matrons of Lucerne, 
Weep, weep ! for those who never will return. 

Quotation Marks. 
A Quotation is said to be direct when 
the exact words are given ; it is said to be 
indirect when the substance is given, but 
^ot the exact words ; thus : — 



Direct quotations, 

1. Mr. Brown said, " I am going for a walk.'' 

2. Mrs. Evans writes, " I hope to see you soon.' 

3. He asked me, " What is your name ?"' 

Indirect quotations. 

1. Mr. Brown said he was going for a walk. 

2. Mrs. Evans writes that she hopes to see us soon 

3. He asked me what my name was. 

Exercise 39. 

Twn the direct quotations into indirect. 
Johnson said, " I am a very fair judge." " I doubt 
the story," observed Mrs. Beckett. " That was not 
quite what I had in my mind," answered the widow. 
" I am very tired," added Mr. Brown. " That is 
false," we all shouted. " You must be a teorn fool," 
shouted the old man to me. '* Our host is an inferior 
person,'' he remarked. " Are you better ?" inquired 
she. Some one asked, " Do you mean to stay till to- 
morrow?" "Little kitten," I say, "just an hour you 
may stay.'' " I'll have that mouse," said the bigger 
cat. Bun replied, '* You are doubtless very big." 

Examples : — Johnson said he was a very fair judge 
Mrs. Beckett observed that she doubted the story. 
Some one asked if you mean to stay, etc. Bun re- 
phed that he was doubtless very big, etc. 

A direct quotation always begins with a 
capital letter, and is placed within inverted 
commas, thus : — 

But his little daiighter whispered, 
As she shook his icy hand, 
" Isn't God upon the ocean. 

Just the same as on the land ?'* 

The man said, "Where are you going ?" 

The titles of books are generally placed 
within inverted commas, thus : — 

Defoe wrote " Robinson Crusoe." 

Thackeray is the author of " Vanity Fair," "Pen- 
dennis," "Esmond,'' " The Newcomes," and other 
novels. 

Exercise 40. 

Place all direct quotations within inverted 
commas. 

Oh Charley, this is too absurd ejaculated Mrs. 
Beckett. Why, Mr. Baton must be going mad ex- 
claimed Mrs. Beckett. Oh dear ! dear ! I can indeed 
gasped the widow. The butler announced Major 
and Mrs. Wellington de Boots. You wiU give my 



44 



EXERCISES IN COMPOSITION. 



love to your mouicr when you write said Mary 
warmly. He smiled as though he were thinking I 
have it not to give. The elder replied I was, as 
visual, unfortunate. How naughty he is said his 
mother. Do you understand the language of flowers ? 
inquired Uncle Ralph. Why, that is lightning ex- 
claimed the knight. Juan replied Not while this arm 
,is free. He thought The boy will be here soon. Tom 
broke in with You do not know whom I mean. He 
will soon be back continued Mr. Brooke. Remem- 
ber the proverb Small strokes fell great oaks. Pro- 
voking scoundrel muttered the antiquary. Out with 
those boats and let us haste away cried one. Hearts 
of oak ! our captains cried. 

Shoot, if you must, this old gray head. 
But spare your country's flag she said. 

Who touches a hair of yon gray head 
Dies like a dog. March on he said. 

He woke to hear his sentries shriek 

To arms ! They come ! The Greek ! The Greek ! 

Out spake the victor then, 

As he hailed them o'er the wave, 

Ye are brothers ! ye are men ! 
And we conquer but to save. 

Examples: — "Oh! Charley, this is too absurd," 
ejaculated Mrs. Beckett. " Why, Mr. Paton must 
be going mad," exclaimed Mrs. Beckett. " Hearts 
of oak !" our captains cried. 

"Shoot, if you must, this old gray head. 
But spare your country's flag,'' she said. 

He woke to hear his sentries shriek, 
"To arms 1 They come! The Greek! The Greek!" 

The student should write out all of the 
above sentences and place the quotation 
marks where they belong. You have enough 
examples to guide you. 

Sometimes, in the course of a quotation, 
jvords are inserted which form no part of 
the quotation ; thus, 

" Out with those boats and let us haste away," 
Cried one, "ere yet yon sea the bark devours." 

In such cases every separate part of the 
quotation is marked off by inverted commas. 
A capital letter is placed only at the begin- 
ning of the quotation, or after a full stop. 



Exercise 41. 
Place all direct quotations within inverted 
commas. 

I cannot tell you that replied the young man ; it 
would not be fair to others. It was not answered 
the other ; your house has always seemed like home. 
But, surely, argued the widow it must be a comfort 
to feel that. In the meantime said Edgai I will 
write to you. A common rose, said Uncle Ralph, 
like common sense and common honesty, is not so 
very common. Poor faithful old doggie ! murmured 
Mrs. Currie, he thought Tacks was a burglar. Cap- 
ital house dog ! murmured the colonel ; I shall never 
forget how he made poor Heavisides run. Cloudy, 
sir, said the colonel, cloudy ; rain before morning, I 
think. I don't see the dog I began ; I suppose you 
found him all right, the other evening. Oh, uncle, 
pleaded Lilian ; don't talk like that. 

Little kitten, I say, 

Just an hour you may stay. 

Agreed, said Ching, but let us try it soon : 

Suppose we say to-morrow afternoon. 

They're there, said Chang, if I see anything 

As clear as day-light. 

May Heaven look down, the old man cries 

Upon my son and on his ship. 

Nay, Solomon rephed, 

The wise and strong should seek 
The welfare of the weak. 
Oh king I she said ; henceforth 
The secret of thy worth 

And wisdom well I know. 
Examples : — '^ I cannot tell you that," replied the 
young man ; "it would not be fair to others." "It 
was not,'' answered the other; "your house has 
always seemed like home." 

" Little kitten," I say, 

" Just an hour you may stay." 

" May Heaven look down," the old man cries, 

" Upon my son and on his ship." 

When double inverted commas are used 
for an ordinary quotation, a quotation within 
a quotation is marked by single inverted 
commas; thus, 

Miriam sang, "The enemy said, 'I will pursue, I 
will overtake, I will divide the spoil.' " 

Exercise 42. 
Place all direct quotations within inverted 
commas. 




ALAS, HOW LIGHT A CAUSE MAY MOVE 
DISSENSION BETWEEN HEARTS THAT LOVE 





"Out swept the squadrons, fated three hundred 
Into the battle-line steadv and full;" 






EXERCISES IN COMPOSITION. 



45 



Mr. Brocklehurst said When I asked him which he 
would rather have, a gingerbread nut to eat or a 
verse of a Psalm to learn he says Oh the verse of a 
Psalm : angels sing Psalms. He continued, On her 
return she exclaimed Oh, dear Papa, how quiet and 
plain all the girls at Lowood look. I shall '■emember 
1 said how you thrust me back though I cried out 
Have mercy ! Have mercy, Aunt Reed. The father 
said Remember the proverb Keep not evil men com- 
pany lest you increase the number. But said the 
lecturer you must note the words of Shakespeare 
Spirits are not finely touched 
But to fine issues. 
The teacher asked in what play do the words All 
the world's a stage occur ? My sister writes in her 
last letter Will you please get me a copy of the song 
Tell me, my heart. In a poem on Dr. South preach- 
ing before Charles II. we read 

The doctor stopped, began to call, 
Pray wake the Earl of Lauderdale. 
Examples : — He continued, " On her return she 
exclaimed, ' Oh ! dear Papa, how quiet and plain all 
girls at Lowood look.' " " But," said the lecturer, 
" you must note the words of Shakespeare, 
' Spirits are not finely touched 
But to fine issues.' " 

A colon (:) is used to separate parts of a 
sentence that are complete in themselves 
and nearly independent, often taking the 
place of a conjunction, thus : — 

Labor is the first great law : labor is good for man. 

A period (.) brings the sentence to a full 
stop, thus : — 

He rode down the valley, over the hill, and finally 
coming to a farmhouse, there he stopped. 

Exercise 43. 

You now come to a very important part 
of these exercises. You are to turn to prac- 
tical account what you have learned con- 
cerning Punctuation. Write the lines that 
follow, and make good sen^e by dividing 
them into sentences and placing the punctu- 
ation marks where they belong. Take time 
for this and do it thoroughly. 

The following Example will aid you in 
carrying out your instructions. The sen- 



tences are first printed without punctuation. 
I then construct the sentences and give them 
punctuation marks : 

The smoke from the Spanish fleet rose above the 
headlands of Santiago Harbor are they coming out 
I shouted to Fowler aye sir there they come he cried 
instantly we took in the situation and being ready for 
battle stood to our guns did you ask if it was a hot 
chase well our captains gunners and marines can 
answer that what thunder of guns our victory was 
complete the President cabled congratulations. 

Divided into sentences and punctuated, you have 
the following : The smoke from the Spanish fleet 
rose above the headlands of Santiago Harbor. "Are 
they coming out?'' I shouted to Fowler. "Aye, sir, 
there they come," he cried. Instantly we took in 
the situation, and, being ready for battle, stood to 
our guns. Did you ask if it was a hot chase ? Well, 
our captains, gunners and marines can answer that. 
What thunder of guns ! Our victory was complete; 
the President cabled congratulations. 

Insert the necessary stops and capital letters, 

Mr. Rich had much money and little politeness he 
thought it beneath him to be civil to ordinary people 
one wet day he was driving in his carriage along a 
turnpike road when he came to the toll gate he called 
out what's to pay five cents if you please sir said the 
keeper Mr. Rich instead of handing the money rudely 
flung a quarter on the muddy ground and cried there 
take your change out of that the keeper stooped for 
the quarter and picked it up then placing twenty cents 
exactly on the same spot he coolly walked back into 
his cottage. 

The statement is beyond doubt true. They set out 
and in a few hours arrived at their father's. We live 
in an old beautiful and interesting town. Sir I be- 
lieve you. He is guilty of the vice of cowards false- 
hood. The horse tired with the long gallop could go 
no further. Yes I am coming. Nay you are wrong. 
Philosophers assert that nature is unlimited in her 
operations that she has inexhaustible treasures in 
reserve that knowledge will always be progressive 
and that all future generations will continue to make 
discoveries of which we have not the least idea. Is 
this the gray-haired wanderer mildly said the voice 
which we so lately overheard Hark 'tis the twanging 
horn. O what a fall was there my countrymen Oh 
why has worth so short a date Such inquiry accord- 
ing to him was out of their province. The conflict 
was terrible it was the combat of despair against 
grief and rage. 



Exercises in Easy Narratives 



IN the preceding pages you have been 
advised to practice the writing of com- 
positions by reading the productions of 
authors, and then writing from mem- 
ory what you have read. This may not be 
easy at first. You will, however, find it less 
difficult as you proceed. You could not be- 
come an expert typewriter or pianist without 
faithful practice, yet we have expert type- 
writers and pianists. 

It is so with learning to express your 
thoughts in writing. What is hard at first 
becomes " second nature " afterward. I have 
prepared some helpful rules and examples 
to aid you. 

Wlien writing- a Story which you have 
read or heard, observe the foUowiug 
directions : — 

1. Before beginning to write, think over 
the whole story, to make sure that you re- 
member all the points, and the order in which 
they come. 

Neglect of this direction may cause you to omit 
something or to put something in the wrong place. 

2. Before beginning to write each sentence, 
arrange the whole of it in your mind. 

If you neglect this direction you may find that the 
second part of a sentence goes badly with the first, 
or that you cannot finish at all a sentence such as 
you have begun. Here is an example: — 

I am desired to inform the Board of Aldermen that 
Mr. Alderman Gill died last night by order of Mrs. 
Gill. 

The words printed in italics could not have been 
in the mind of the writer when he began, or he would 
have placed them after d^ired^ or (better still) he 
would have said, " I am desired by Mrs. Gill, etc.'' 

3. Make short sentences. 

Beware of using and and so too much. Avoid 
such a sentence as the following: 

Once upon a time there was a fox and he went into 
a vineyard and there he saw many bunches of beau- 
46 



tiful ripe grapes hanging on high and he tried to 
reach them and he could not jump high enough and 
so he turned to go and said " It does not matter ; the 
grapes are sour." 

Such a sentence ought to be divided into several ; 
thus :— 

A fox once went into a vineyard. There he saw 
many bunches of beautiful ripe grapes hanging on 
high. He tried to reach them, but found that he 
could not juftip high enough. As he turned to go he 
said, " It does not matter; the grapes are sour.'' 

The following sentence has several faults besides 
its length : — 

He [Swinton] did with a sort of eloquence that 
moved the whole House lay out all his own errors 
and the ill spirit he was in when he committed the 
things that were charged on him with so tender a 
sense that he seemed as one indifferent what they 
should do with him, and without so much as moving 
for mercy or even for a delay he did so effectually 
prevail on them that they recommended him to the 
king as a fit object of his mercy. — Burnet : History 
of his Own Time. 

It is amended somewhat by division into shorter 
sentences, thus : — 

With a sort of eloquence that moved the whole 
House, he did lay out all his own errors and the ill 
spirit that he was in when he committed the things 
that were charged on him. He spoke with so tender 
a sense that he seemed as one indifferent what they 
should do with him. Without so much as moving 
for mercy or even for a delay, he did so effectually 
prevail on them that they recommended him to the 
king as a, fit object for mercy, 

4. Use no word of which you do not know 
the exact meaning. 

Neglect of this rule led some one to write : 

At the dedication of the Gettysburg Monument, 
President Lincoln gave the ovation. 

5. Do not use long words if you can find 
short ones. 

The barber who advertised himself as " a first-class 
tonsorial artist and facial operator,'' meant only that 
he could cut hair and shave well. 



EXERCISES IN EASY NARRATIVES. 



47 



6. Arrange the different parts of each sen- 
tence so that they convey the meaning which 
you intend. 

The following sentence is badly arranged : — 

He tells stories which Mountain would be shocked 
to hear after dinner. — Thackeray : The Virginia7is. 

Mountain would be shocked to hear them at any 



time. To convey the author's meaning the sentence 
should be : — 

After dinner he tells stories which Mountain would 
be shocked to hear. 

7. When you have written your story, al- 
ways read it over, and correct all the mistakes 
which you can find. 



SHORT STORIES TO BE READ CAREFULLY, AND THEN 
WRITTEN FROM MEMORY. 



The Fox and the Goat. 

A fox that had fallen into a well tried in vain to 
get out again. By-and-by a goat came to the place 
to quench her thirst. Seeing the fox below she asked 
if the water was good. " Yes/' answered the cun- 
ning creature, "it is so good that I cannot leave off 
drinking." Thereupon the goat, without a moment's 
thought, jumped in. The fox at once scrambled on 
her back and got out. Then, looking down at the 
poor fool, he said coolly, " If you had half as much 
brains as beard, you would look before you leap." 

The Vain Jackdaw, 

A vain jackdaw found some peacocks' feathers and 
stuck them amongst his own. Then he left his old 
companions and boldly went amongst the peacocks. 
They knew him at once, in spite of his disguise ; so 
they stripped off his borrowed plumes, pecked him 
well, and sent him about his business. He went back 
to the daws as if nothing had happened, but they 
would not allow him to mix with them. If he was 
too good for them before, they were too good for him 
now. Thus the silly bird, by trying to appear better 
than he was, lost his old friends without making any 
new ones. 

The Ant and the Grasshopper, 
One frosty day a grasshopper, half dead with cold 
and hunger, knocked at ttie door of an ant, and 
begged for something to eat. " What were you doing 
in the summer?" asked the ant. " Oh, I was singing 
all the time." " Then/' said the ant, "if you could 
smg all the summer you may dance all the winter." 

The Wolf and the Lamb. 
A wolf, coming to a brook to drink, saw a lamb 
standing in the stream, some distance down. He 
made up his mind to kill her, and at once set about 
finding an excuse. "Villain/' he said, "how dare 
you dirty the water which I am drinking?' The 



lamb answered meekly, " Sir, it is impossible for me 
to dirty the water which you are drinking, because 
the stream runs from you to me, not from me to you." 
" Be that as it may/' replied the wolf, "you called me 
bad names a year ago." " Sir," pleaded the lamb, 
" you are mistaken ; a year ago I was not born." 
" Then," said the hungry beast, " if it was not you it 
was your father, and that is as bad. It is of no use 
trying to argue me out of my supper.'' Thereupon 
he fell upon the poor creature and ate her up. 

What the Bear Said, 

As two friends were traveling through a wood, a 
bear rushed out upon them. One of the men with- 
out a thought to his companion, climbed up into a 
tree, and hid among the branches. The other, know- 
ing that alone he had no chance, threw himself on 
the ground, and pretended to be dead ; for he had 
heard that bears will not touch a dead body. The 
creature came and sniffed him from head to foot, but, 
thinking him to be lifeless, went away without harm- 
ing him. Then the man in the tree got down, and, 
hoping to pass his cowardice off with a joke, he said, 
" I noticed that the bear had his mouth very close to 
your ear; what did he whisper to you?" "Oh.'' 
answered the other, " he only told me never to keep 
company with those who in time of danger leave 
their friends in the lurch." 

Bad Company, 

A farmer who had just sown his fields placed a 
net to catch the cranes that came to steal his corn. 
After some time he went to look at the net, and in it 
he found several cranes and one stork. " Oh, sir, 
please spare me," said the stork; " I am not a crane, 

I am an innocent stork, kind to my parents, and " 

The farmer would hear no more. " All that may be 
very true,'' he said, "but it is no business of mine. 
I found you amongst thieves, and you must suffer 
with them." 



48 



EXERCISES IN EASY NARRATIVES. 



Mercury and the Woodmeii. 

A woodman was working beside a deep river when 
his axe shpped, and fell into the water. As the axe 
was his living, he was very sorry to lose it, and sat 
on the bank to weep. Mercury, hearing his cries, 
appeared to him, and, finding what was the matter, 
dived, and brought up a golden axe. " Is this the 
one which you lost?" asked the god. " No," said 
the woodman. Then the god dived a second time, 
and brought up a silver axe, and asked if that was 
the one. The woodman again answered " No.'' So 
Mercury dived a third time, and then he brought up 
the axe which had been lost. " That is mine," cried 
the woodman joyfully. The god gave it to him, and 
presented him with the other two as a reward for his 
truth and honesty. 

One of the woodman's neighbors, hearing what 
had happened, determined to see if he could not 
have the same good luck. He went to the bank of 
the river, began to fell a tree, purposely let his axe 
slip into the water, and then pretended to cry. Mer- 
cury appeared as before, dived, and brought up a 
golden axe. The man, in his eagerness to grasp the 
prize, forgot to act as his neighbor had done ; so 
when the god asked, 'Ts that yours?" he answered 
" Yes.'' To punish him for his lying and dishonesty, 
die god would neither give him the golden axe nor 
find his own. 

Dr, Johnson and Mrs. Siddons. 
Dr. Johnson always spoke scornfully of actors and 
actresses, but he treated the famous actress, Mrs. 
Siddons, with great politeness. She called on him, 
and his servant could not readily find a chair for 
her. " You see, madam,'' said the doctor, " wherever 
you go no seats can be got." 

Clever Children, 
An ignorant Englishman once visited Paris. After 
his return he was talking to some of his friends about 
the wonders he had seen. " I was most surprised," 
he said, " with the cleverness of the children. Boys 
and girls of seven or eight spoke French quite as 
easily as the children in this country speak Enghsh.'' 

One Good Turn Deserves Another. 
A Cambridge student sent to another student to 
borrow a book. " I never lend my books out," was 
the answer, "but if the gentleman chooses to come 
to my rooms he may use them there." A few days 
after the book owner sent to the other student to 
borrow a carpet sweeper. " I never lend my carpet 
sweeper," rephed he, " but if the gentleman chooses 
to come to my rooms he may «se it there." 



Learning Rewarded, 
A rich farmer sent his son to a famous university. 
The young man was rather foolish, and brought 
home more folly than learning. One night, when 
there were two fowls for supper, he said, "I can 
prove these two fowls to be three." " Let us hear," 
answered the old man. "This," said the scholar, 
pointing to the first, "is one; this," pomting to the 
second, "is two; and two and one make three.' 
" Since you have made it out so well," replied the 
father, " your mother shall have the first fowl, I will 
have the second, and you may keep the third for 
your great learning." 

Daring a Dutchman. 

A Dutch vessel and an English vessel were lying 
near each other. One of the Dutch sailors wished to 
show his activity, so he ran up the mast, and stood 
upon his head on the top of it. One of the English 
sailors (who did not like to be beaten by a Dutch- 
man) also tried to stand upon his head on the top of 
the mast. He, however, fell. The rigging broke, 
his fall and he alighted on the deck unhurt. " There,, 
you lubber," he cried, " do that if you dare." 

The Miserly Planter. 
A very miserly planter formerly lived in the island' 
of Jamaica. He often gave his poor slaves too httle' 
food. They complained, and he answered that he 
could not help himself, because the provision ships. . 
had been taken by pirates. This lying excuse satis- 
fied them once, twice, thrice, and again, but in the; 
end long fasting made them impatient. Then they 
went to their master and said to him, " Is it not- 
strange that the pirates have so often taken the ships, 
bringing food, but have never taken the ships bring- 
ing pickaxes and hoes ? " 

A Precious Turnip. 

Before Louis the Eleventh became king he used', 
to visit a peasant whose garden produced excellent, 
fruit. Aftes his accession, the peasant brought him 
as a present a very large turnip which had grown in 
his garden. The king, remembering the pleasant, 
hours that he had spent under the old man's roof, 
gave him a thousand crowns. The lord of the vil- 
lage, hearing of this, thought that if one who gave a 
paltry turnip received so large a reward, one who- 
gave a really valuable present would receive a stilt 
larger reward. He, therefore, offered a splendid 
horse. The king accepted it and, calling for the bij; 
turnip, said, "This cost me a thousand crowns; J^ 
give it to you in return for your horse." 



EXERCISES IN EASY NARRATIVES. 



49 



The Dangers of a Bed. 

A carpenter asked a sailor, " Where did your 
father die ?" The sailor answered, " My father, my 
grandfather, and my great-grandfather were all 
drowned at sea." " Then," said the carpenter, " are 
you not afraid of going to sea, lest you should be 
drowned too ? '' Instead of replying, the sailor asked, 
" Where did your father die ? '' "In his bed.'' " And 
your grandfather?'' "In his bed.'' "And your 
great-grandfather ? " "In his bed also." *' Then,'' 
said the sailor, " why should I be more afraid of 
going to sea than you are of going to bed ?'' 

How to treat Enemies. 
A Scotch minister had in his parish a man who 
sometimes used to get drunk. One day the minister, 
reproving him for his bad habit, said, " You love 
whisky too much, Donald ; you know very well that 
:t is your worst enemy." '' But,'' answered the man 
slily, ''have you not often told us that we ought to 
love our enemies?" "True, Donald, but I never 
told you that you ought to swallow them." 

The Secret of Success. 
During the long struggle between England and 
France, two ignorant old ladies were discussing the 
war as they went to church. One said, "Is it not 
wonderful that the English always beat the French ?" 
" Not at all," answered the other ; " don't you know 
that the Enghsh always say their prayers before 
going into battle ? " " But," replied the first, " can't 
the French say their prayers as well ?'' " Tut, tut," 
said the second ; " poor jabbering bodies, who can 
understand them ? " 

The Preacher for Prisoners. 
When David Dewar was a member of the Prison 
Board the question of appointing a chaplain for the 
'ail came up. The favorite candidate of the other 
members of the Board was an unsuccessful clergy- 
man. David, when asked to vote for him, said, " I 
have no objection ; I hear that he has already 
preached a church empty, and if he will only preach 
the jail empty too, he is just the man for our money." 

The Squire and his Servant. 
A Scotch squire was one day riding out with his 
man. Opposite a hole in a steep bank the master 
stopped and said, " John, I saw a badger go in 
-.here?'' "Did you?" said John; "will you hold 
my horse, sir?" " Certainly," answered the squire, 
and away rushed John for a spade. He got one and 
dug furiously for half an hour, the squire looking on 
with an amused look. At last John exclaimed, " I 
(4— X) 



can't find him, sir." " I should be surprised if you 
could," said the squire, " for it is ten years since I 
saw him go in." 

Proper Payment. 
A boy went into a baker's shop and bought a five- 
cent loaf. It seemed to him rather small, so he said 
that he did not believe it to be of full weight. " Never 
mind," answered the baker, "you will have the less 
to carry." "True," replied the lad, and throwirig 
four cents on the counter he left the shop. The baker 
called after him, "Hi! this is not enough money." 
" Never mind," said the boy, " you will have the less 
to count." 

The Corporal* s Watch. 

A corporal in the life-guards of Frederick the Great 
was a brave but rather vain fellow. He could not 
afford a watch, but managed to buy a chain, and this 
he wore with a bullet at the end. The king, hearing 
of this, thought he would have a little fun at the sol- 
dier's expense, so he said to him, "It is six o'clock by 
my watch ; what time is it by yours?" The man 
drew the bullet from his pocket and answered, " My 
watch does not mark the hour, but it tells me every 
moment that it is my duty to face death for your 
Majesty" " Here, my friend," said Frederick, offer- 
ing him his own costly watch, "take this, that you 
may be able to tell the hour also." 

Three Toasts. 
When the Earl of Stair was ambassador in Hol- 
land he was once at a banquet with the French and 
Austrian ambassadors. The Frenchman proposed 
the health of his master, calling him, " The Sun." 
The Austrian then proposed the health of his mis- 
tress, calling her "The Moon.'' The Earl of Stair 
was equal to the occasion, for when his turn came he . 
proposed the health of his sovereign as " Joshua, who 
made the sun and moon to stand still.'' 

Going to Sleep in Church. 

A Scotch clergyman had a youth in his congrega- 
tion who wasunderwitted, and was commonly spoken 
of as being half daft. One Sunday the clergyman 
observed that all his hearers were asleep except this 
youth. After the service the minister congratulated 
him upon being awake, when he naively replied, 
" Maybe if I hadn't been half daft I would have 
been asleep too.'' 

Striking Back. 

A little girl complained to her brother that a boy 
had struck her. " Why did you not strike back ? " 
he asked. " O," said the innocent creature, " I did 
that before he hit me." 



50 



EXERCISES IN EASY NARRATIVES. 



Outlines to be Turned into Narratives. 



flE following is an outline of one of 
iEsop's fables: — 
I. Donkey carrying salt — passing through 
stream — falls — loses load. 

2. Next day loaded with salt— lies down in stream. 

3. Master resolves to teach lesson — third journey 
load of sponge. 

4. Donkey lies down — load heavier. 

This outline may be filled in thus :- 
A donkey laden with salt happened to fall while 
passing through a stream. The water melted the 
salt, and the donkey on getting up was delighted to 
find himself with nothing to carry. Next day he had 
to pass again, laden with salt, through the same 
stream. Re7nembering how the water had yesterday 
rid him of his burden, he lay down purposely, and 
was again rid of it. But clever as he was his 7naster 
was cleverer, and resolved to teach him a lesson. 
On the third journey he therefore placed on the 
creature's back several bags filled with sponges. 
The donkey lay down as before, but on getting up 
he found that his load, instead of being much lighter, 
was much heavier. 

In the fable, as thus told, there are several 
points (printed in italics) which are not in 
the outline. Such little details help to make 
the story more real. 

The Snake's Ingratitude. 

1. Cold winter's day — snake half dead. 

2. Peasant pities it — places in bosom — takes home 
— lays before fire. 

3. Snake revives — attacks children — peasant kills 
it. 

This outline may be filled in as follows: — 
On a cold winter's day a peasant discovered a 
snake that was half dead. He pitied the half-frozen 
creature, placed it in his bosom, and upon taking it 
home, laid it before the fire. The snake soon re- 
vived, and, true to its nature, attacked the children 
of the household, when it was promptly killed by the 
peasant. 

The Lion and the Mouse. 

1. Lion sleeping — mouse happens to wake him. 

2. Lion going to kill mouse — mouse begs for mercy 
— mercy granted. 



3. Lion caught in a net— roars — mouse hears him — 
nibbles net. 

The Frog and the Ox. 

1. Ox feeding in marshy meadow — treads among 
young frogs — kills many. 

2. One that escapes tells mother — " Such a big 
beast! " 

3. Vain mother asks, " So big ? " — " Much bigger.'' 

4. Mother puffs out—" So big ? " — " Much bigger." 

5. This several times — at last mother bursts. 

The Hare and the Tortoise. 

1. Hare jeers at tortoise for slowness. 

2. Tortoise proposes race — hare accepts. 

3. Tortoise starts — hare says, " Will take a nap 
first." 

4. When hare wakes tortoise has passed post. 

5. " Slow and steady wins the race." 

Dividing the Spoils. 

1. Lion, donkey and fox hunting — much spoil. 

2. Lion asks donkey to divide — divides into three 
equal parts. 

3. Lion angry — kills donkey-^asks fox to divide. 

4. Fox makes very great heap for* lion and very 
little one for himself, 

5. "Who taught you to divide so well ? " — "The 
dead donkey." 

The Wind and the Sun. 

1. Wind and sun dispute which is stronger. 

2. Agree to try on passing traveler — which can 
soonest make him take off cloak. 

3. Wind begins — blows furiously — traveler holds 
cloak the tighter. 

4. Sun shines — traveler too warm — throws off 
cloak, 

5. Kindness better than force. 

The Bundle of Sticks. 

1. Quarrelsome brothers — father speaks in vain. 

2. Asks sons to break bundle of sticks — each tries 
and fails. 

3. Asks them to undo bundle and break separate 
sticks — easy. 

4. Brothers united, like bundle — quarrelsome, like 
separate sticks. 

5. "Union is strength." 



EXERCISES IN EASY NARRATIVES. 



51 



The Goose with the Golden Eggs. 

1. Man has goose — lays golden ^gg daily. 

2. Man greedy — thinks inside must be full of gold 
— kills goose — finds her like all other geese. 

The Frogs asking for a King. 

1. Frogs ask Jupiter for a king — he laughs at their 
folly — throws them a log. 

2. The splash frightens them — finding log still 

I they venture to look at it — at last jump on it and 
despise it. 
3. Ask for another king — ^Jupiter annoyed — sends 
them a stork. 
4. Stork eats many — the rest ask Jupiter to take 
stork away — he says " No." " Let well alone." 

The Battle of the Birds and Beasts. 
^ I. Bat is a beast, but flies hke a bird. 

2. Battle between birds and beasts — bat keeps 
aloof. 

3. Beasts appear to be winning — bat joins them. 

4. Birds rally and win — bat found among victors. 

5. Peace made — birds and beasts condemn bat — 
bat never since dared show face in daylight. 

The Hart and the Vine. 

1. Hart fleeing from hunters — hides among leaves 
of vine — hunters pass without seeing him. 

2. He begins to eat leaves — a hunter hears noise — 
shoots hart. 

3. Hart lies wounded — reproaches itself for com- 
mitting so great a folly. 



4. *' Vine protected me; I injured it; deserved my 
fate." 

The Lion and the Bulls. 

1. Three bulls feeding together in a meadow. 

2. Lion wished to eat them — afraid of the three. 

3. Lion tells each that the others have been slan 
dering. 

4. Bulls quarrel — lion kills each separately. 

Saved by the Life-boat. 

1. Vessel goes to sea — overtaken by storm. 

2. Storm increases — ship driven on the rocks. 

3. Officers and crew in distress — clinging to the 
I'iggiiig — making signals. 

4. Seen by the Life Guard on shore. 

5. Boat hurrie*s to the rescue — ^heroic seamen. 

6. Men on board brought ashore — benumbed — 
famishing. ■;■ 

7. Revived — grateful to rescuers. 

Story of a Tramp. 

1. Early home — restless youth — runs away. 

2. Goes to seek his fortune — falls in with vicious 
companions. 

3. Roams from place to place — becomes an idle 
beggar. 

4. Young man in a police court charged with bur- 
glarly — sentenced to state prison. 

5. First mistake was leaving home — next, corf* 
panionship — then, theft. 

6. Value of home attachments — industry — honesty 

7. Beware of the first wrong, step — not easy tc 
remedy our mistakes. 



Stories in Verse to be Turned into Prose. 



The following poem, by Charles Kingsley, 
tells a touching little story : — 

fHREE fishers went sailing away to the west. 
Away to the west as the sun went down ; 
Each thought on the woman who loved him 
the best, 
And the children stood watching them out of the 
town. 
For men must work, and women must weep, 
And there's httle to earn, and many to keep, 
Though the harbor bar be moaning. 

Three wives sat up in the lighthouse tower. 
And trimmed the lamps as the sun went down ; 



They looked at the squall, and they looked at the 
shower. 
And the night-rack came rolling up, ragged and 
brown ! 
But men must work, and women must weep, 
Though storms be sudden and waters deeo, 
And the harbor bar be moaning. 
Three corpses lay out on the shining sands. 

In the morning gleam, as the tide went down. 
And the women are weeping and wringing theu 
hands 
For those who will never come home to the town. 
For men must work, and women must weep. 
And the sooner it's over the sooner to sleep. 
And good-bye to the bar and its moaning. 



52 



EXERCISES IN EASY NARRATIVES. 



Here is the same story, told in prose : — 

One afternoon in a western port, three fishermen 
might be seen walking slowly down towards the 
beach. Heavy masses of clouds were moving rap- 
idly overhead ; the setting sun had tinged the sky 
an angry crimson, and the waves broke with a 
moaning noise over the bar at the mouth of the har- 
bor. The fishermen knew that a storm was threat- 
ening, but still they were going to sea, for their fami- 
Hes were large and their earnings had of late been 
small. Yet they were sad at heart, and as they sailed 
away they thought of the dear wives left behind, and 
of the dear children watching them out of the town. 

The women were so anxious that they could not 
rest at home, so they went up to the lighthouse to 
trim the lamps and peer out into the darkness. The 
storm came on even sooner than was expected. A 
huge billow caught the fishermen's boat and sank it, 
and the tide carried their dead bodies to the shore. 

By morning the storm had passed, and the rising 
sun shone on the wet sand and on three poor women 
wringing their hands over the corpses of their hus- 
bands. 

Note that in this prose rendering there is 
no attempt to preserve the poetry. Atten- 
tion has been paid to the story only, and that 
has been told in the simplest manner. I 
here append a cluster of poems to be turned 
into prose. 

THE SANDS OF DEE. 

MARY, go and call the cattle ho.ne, 
And call the cattle home, 
6 I And call the cattle home, 

Across the sands of Dee !" 
The western wind was wild and dark with foam, 
And all alone went she. 

The creeping tide came up along the sand. 
And o'er and o'er the sand, 
And round and round the sand, 
As far as eye could see ; 
The blinding mist came up and hid the land. 
And never home came she. 

Oh, is it weed, or fish, or floating hair, — 
A tress of golden hair. 
Of drowned maiden's hair. 
Above the nets at sea ? 
Was never salmon yet that shone so fair, 
Among the stakes of Dee 1 




They rowed her in across the rolling foam. 
The cruel, crawling foam, 
The cruel, hungry foam, 
To her grave beside the sea ; 
But still the boatmen hear her call the cattle home 
Across the sands of Dee. 

— Charles Ki7igsley, 

THE WAY TO WIN. 

f HERE'S always a river to cross. 
Always an effort to make. 
If there's anything good to win, 
Any rich prize to take. 
Yonder's the fruit we crave. 

Yonder the charming scene ; 
But deep and wide, with a troubled tide. 
Is the river that lies between. 



If 



PRESS ON. 

RESS onl there's no such word as fail; 
Press nobly on ! the goal is near ,• 
Ascend the mountairi ! breast the gale ! 
Look upward, onward — never fear ! 



Press on ! if once, and twice thy feet 
Slip back and'^stumble, harder try; 

From him who never dreads to meet 
Danger and death, they're sure to fly. 

To coward ranks the bullet speeds ; 

While on their breasts who never quail. 
Gleams, guardian of chivalric deeds. 

Bright courage, like a coat of mail. 

Press on ! if fortune play thee false 
To-day, to-morrow she'll be true ; 

Whom now she sinks, she now exalts. 
Taking old gifts and granting new. 

The wisdom of the present hour 
Makes up for foUies past and gone ; 

To weakness strength succeeds, and power 
From frailty springs : — Press 07t ! Press on ! 
— Park Benja7m7i. 






THE DYING WARRIOR. 

WOUNDED chieftain, lying 
By the Danube's leafy side. 
Thus faintly said, in dying, 

" Oh ! bear, thou foaming tidCj, 
This gift to my lady bride." 



'Twas then, in life's last quiver. 
He flung the scarf he wore 




^^ynxf: 'xy&^^^m.'/w/Mm^.A >,-, -. 



■'■"■'' '- -i.-^^-y '- « ..„„a,:.;g 



ORIENTAIv COSTUME 



I 




;TO. ti f MORRISON, CHICAGO 



A FRENCH DANCER— SHOWING REVOIvVING SKIR: 



EXERCISES IN EASY NARRATIVES. 



53 



Into the foaming river, 
Which, ah, too quickly, bore 
That pledge of one no more ! 

With fond impatience burning, 
The chieftain's lady stood, 

To watch her love returning 
In triumph down the flood, 
From that day's field of blood. 

But, field, alas! ill-fated. 
The lady saw, instead 

Of the bark whose speed she waited. 
Her hero's scarf, all red 
With the <irops his heart had shed. 

One shriek — and all was over — 
Her life-pulse ceased to beat ; 

The gloomy waves now cover 
That bridal flower so sweet, 
And the scarf is her winding-sheet. 

— Thomas Moore, 

THE BOY THAT LAUGHS. 

" KNOW a funny little boy, 

The happiest ever born ; 
His face is like a beam of joy. 
Although his clothes are torn. 

I saw him tumble on his nose. 

And waited for a groan ; 
But how he laughed! Do you suppose 

He struck his funny bone? 

There's sunshine in each word he speaks ; 

His laugh is something grand ; 
Its ripples overrun his cheeks 

Like waves on snowy sand. 

He laughs the moment .he awakes, 

And till the day is done, 
The school-room for a joke he takes, 

His lessons are but fun. 

No matter how the day may go, 

You cannot make him cry. 
He's worth a dozen boys I know, 

Who pout and mope and sigh. • 






THE CAT'S BATH. 

S pussy sat washing her face by the gate, 
A nice little dog came to have a good 
chat ; 
And after some talk about matters of 
state, 
Said, with a low bow, " My dear Mrs. Cat, 



I really do hope you'll not think I am rude ; 

I am curious, I know, and that you may say — 
Perhaps you'll be angry ; but no, you're too good — 

Pray why do you wash in that very odd way ? 

" Now I every day rush away to the lake, 

And in the clear water I dive and I swim ; 
I dry my wet fur with a run and a shake, 

And am fresh as a rose and neat as a pin. 
But you any day in the sun may be seen. 

Just rubbing yourself with your red little tongue ; 
I admire the grace with which it is done — 

But really, now, are you sure you get yourseli 
clean?" 

The cat, who sat swelling with rage and surprise 

At this, could no longer her fury contain, 
For she had always supposed herself rather precise, 
And of her sleek neatness had been somewhat 
vain ; 
So she flew at poor doggy and boxed both his ears, 
Scratched his nose and his eyes, and spit in his 
face. 
And sent him off yelping ; from which it appears 
Those who ask prying questions may meet w*th 
disgrace. 






THE BEGGAR MAN. 

ROUND the fire, one wintry night. 
The farmer's rosy children sat ; 
The fagot lent its blazing light. 

And jokes went round, and careles? 
chat; 



When, hark ! a gentle hand they hear 
Low tapping at the bolted door ; 

And thus, to gain their willing ear, 
A feeble voice was heard implore : — • 

" Cold blows the blast across the moor. 
The sleet drives hissing in the wind} 
Yon toilsome mountain lies before, 
A dreary, treeless waste behind. 

" My eyes are weak and dim with age. 
No road, no path can I descry ; 
And these poor rags ill stand the rage 
Of such a keen, inclement sky. 

'* So faint I am, these tottering feet 

No more my palsied frame can bear; 
My freezing heart forgets to beat, 
And drifting snows my tomb prepare. 

" Open your hospitable door. 

And shield me from the biting blast : 



54 



EXERCISES IN EASY NARRATIVES. 




Cold, cold it blows across the moor, 
The weary moor that I have passed!'' 

With hasty steps the farmer ran, 
And close beside the fire they place 

The poor half- frozen beggar man, 

With shaking limbs and pale -blue face. 

The little children flocking came, 

And chafed his frozen hands in theirs ; 

And busily the good old dame 
A comfortable mess prepares. 

Their kindness cheered his drooping soul ; 

And slowly down his wrinkled cheek 
The big round tear was seen to roll, 

Which told the thanks he could not speak. 

The children then began to sigh. 
And all their merry chat was o'er; 

And yet they felt, they knew not why. 

More glad than they had done before. — Aiken. 

THE SHOWER=BATH. 

UOTH Dermot (a lodger at Mrs. O'Flynns). 
" How queerly my shower-bath feels ! 
It shocks like a posse of needles and pins, 
Or a shoal of electrical eels." 

Quoth Murphy, "Then mend it, and I'll tell you how 
It's all your own fault, my good fellow : 

I used to be bothered as you are, but now 

I'm wiser — I take my umbrella." — James Smith. 

QUEEN MARY'S RETURN TO SCOTLAND. 

TER a youth by woes o'ercast. 
After a thousand sorrows past, 
The lovely Mary once again 

Set foot upon her native plain ; 
Knelt on the pier with modest grace. 
And turned to heaven her beauteous face, 
'Twas then the caps in air were blended, 
A thousand thousand shouts ascended, 
Shivered the breeze around the throng, 
Gray barrier cliffs the peals prolong; 
And every tongue gave thanks to heaven, 
Thct Mary to their hopes was given. 

Her comely form and graceful mien 
Bespoke the lady and the queen; 
The woes of one so fair and young 
Moved every heart and every tongue. 
Driven from her home, a helpless child, 
To brave the winds and billows wild; 
An exile bred in realms afar. 
Amid commotions, broils, and war. 




In one short year, her hopes all crossed- n 

A parent, husband, kingdom, lost ! 

And all ere eighteen years had shed 

Their honors o'er her royal head. 

For such a queen, the Stuart's heir, — 

A queen so courteous, young, and fair, — 

Who would not every foe defy ? 

Who would not stand — who would not die ? 

Light on her airy steed she sprung. 

Around with golden tassels hung ; 

No chieftain there rode half so free, 

Or half so light and gracefully. 

How sweet to see her ringlets pale 

Wide waving in the southland gale. 

Which through the broomwood blossoms flew, 

To fan her cheeks of rosy hue ! 

Whene'er it heaved her bosom's screen. 

What beauties in her form were seen ! 

And when her courser's mane it swung, 

A thousand silver bells were rung. 

A sight so fair, on Scottish plain, 

A Scot shall never see again ! — Hogg. 

THE EAQLE AND SERPENT. 

IN the air do I behold indeed 
An eagle and a serpent wreathed in fight. 
And now, relaxing its impetuous flight, 
Before th' aerial rock on which I stood, 
The eagle hovering wheeled to left and right. 

And hung with lingering wings over the flood. 
And startled with its yells the wide air's solitude. 

A shaft of light upon its wings descended. 

And every golden feather gleamed therein, 
Feather and scale inextricably blended : 

The serpent's mailed and many-colored skin 
Shone through the plumes, its coils were twined 
within. 

With many a swoln and knotted fold ; and high 
And far the neck receding hthe and thin. 

Sustained a crested head, which warily 
Shifted, and glanced before the eagle's steadfast eye. 

Around, around, in ceaseless circles wheeling. 

With clang of wings and scream the eagle sailed 
Incessantly; sometimes on high concealing 

Its lessening orbs, sometimes as if it failed, 
Drooped through the air, and still it shrieked and 
wailed. 

And, casting back its eager head, with beak 
And talon unremittingly assailed 

The wreathed serpent, who did ever seek 
Upon his enemy's heart a mortal wound to wieak. 

— Shelley^ 



EXERCISES m EASY NARRATIVES. 



65 




ASK AND HAVE. 

H, 'tis time I should talk to your mother, 
Sweet Mary," says I ; 
" Oh, don't talk to my mother,'' says Maryj 
Beginning to cry : 
For my mother says men are deceivers, 

And never, I know, will consent ; 
She says girls in a hurry who marry, 
At leisure repent.'' 

Then, suppose I would talk to your father, 

Sweet Mary," says I; 
Oh, don't talk to my father,'' says Mary, 

Beginning to cry : 
For my father, he loves me so dearly. 

He'll never consent I should go — 
If you talk to my father," says Mary, 

*' He'll surely say ' No.' " 

Then how shall I get you, my jewel ? 

Sweet Mary," says I ; 
If your father and mother's so cruel, 

Most surely I'll die ! " 
Oh, never say die, dear,'' says Mary ; 

" A way now to save you I see; 
Since my parents are both so contrary — 

You'd better ask ;;?<?." — Lover. 

WHAT WAS HIS CREED? 

E left a load of anthracite 

In front of a poor widow's door 
When the deep snow, frozen and white, 
Wrapped street and square, mountain 

and moor — 

That was his deed : 

He did it well ; 

" What was his creed ? *' 

I cannot tell. 

Blessed " in his basket and his store," 

In sitting down and rising up ; 
When more he got he gave the more, 
Withholding not the crust and cup ; 
He took the lead 
In each good task ; 
" What was his creed ? " 
I did not ask. 
His charity was like the snow. 

Soft, white, and silken in its fall ; 
Not like the noisy winds that blow 
From shivering trees the leaves ; a pall 
For flower and weed, 
Dropping below ; 
" What was his creed ? '' 
The poor may know. 





He had great faith in loaves of bread 
For hungry people, young and old ; 
And hope inspired, kind words he said, 
To those he sheltered from the cold, 
For he must feed 
As well as pray; 
** What was his creed ? '* 
I cannot say. 

THE OLD REAPER. 

,ID the brown-haired and the black-haired 
men, 
With ruddy faces aglow. 
The old man stood in the harvest field, 
With a head as white as snow. 
" Let me cut a sheaf, my boys," he said, 
" Before it is time to go." 

They put the sickle within his hand : 

He bowed to the windy wheat; 
Pleasantly fell the golden ears, 

With the corn flowers at his feet. 
He Hfted a handful, thoughtfully ; 

It was ripe and full and sweet. 

" Many and many a sheaf," he said, 
" I have cut in the years gone past; 
And many and many a sheaf these arms 

On the harvest wains have cast. 
But, children dear, I am weary now, 

And I think this is— the last. 

" Let me rest awhile beneath the tree ; 

For I like to watch you go. 
With sickles bright, through the ripe, full wheat, 

And to feel the fresh wind blow." 
And they spread their working coats for him 

'Mong the grasses sweet and low. 

When the sun grew high they came again, 
For a drink and their bread and meat ; 

And in the shadow he sleeping lay, 
With sunshine on his feet. 

Like a child at night, outspent with play, 
He lay in slumber sweet. 



THE GALLANT SAIL^BOAT. 






HE boat, impatient of delay, 

With spreading, white wings flew away, 
Pushed its bold venture more and more. 
Left far behind the fading shore, 
And glided on, swan-hke and free, 
A thing of life, sylph of the sea. 
The speed grew swift, each eager sail 
Swelled as it caught the gentle gale, 



56 



EXERCISES IN EASY NARRATIVES, 



And so, with canvas all unfurled, 
Around the prow the waters curled, 
And wreaths of spray, formed one by one, 
Made rainbows in the shining sun. 

The lively breeze then stiffer grew, 
The sail-boat leaped and darted through 
Each billow as it struck her breast, 
Or, mounting upward, skimmed the crest, 
Plunged down into the hollow graves, 
Made by the fast advancing waves, 
Then rose again with graceful bound, 
Wet with the white-caps splashing round. 
And in her frolicsome advance, 
Moved hke a maiden in the dance. 
Careening low upon her side, 
No bird that cuts the air could ghde 
More deftly than she gaily flew, 
Light-hearted, o'er the waters blue. 

And just as gay were those on board, 
Their youthful spirits in accord. 
As well-tuned strings wake with a thrill. 
Touched by the harpist's facile skill, 
So these young hearts were in attune. 
And carolled like the birds of June. 
The pleasure-seekers, side by side. 
Rode with the wind, rode with the tide, 
While sparkling jest and blithesome song, 
And bursts of laughter loud and long. 
Spontaneous mirth and shouts of glee. 
Went floating o'er the ruffled sea, 

— Davenport. 

WOOING. 

K^^\' LITTLE bird once met another bird, 

/l\ And whistled to her, " Will you be my 
/ II Y mate?'' 

■^ V^^ With fluttering wings she twittered, 
" How absurd! 
Oh, what a silly pate I" 

And off into a distant tree she flew, 

To find concealment in the shady cover; 
And passed the hours in slily peeping through 
At her rejected lover. 

The jilted bird, with drooping heart and wing, 

Poured forth his grief all day in plaintiff songs; 
Telling in sadness to the ear of spring 
The story of his wrongs. 

But little thought he, while each nook and dell 

With the wild music of his plaint was thrilling. 
That scornful breast with sighs began to swell — 
Half-pitying and half-willing. 




Next month I walked the same sequestered way, 

When close together on a twig I spied them ; 
And in a nest half-hid with leaves there lay 
Four little birds beside them. 

Coy maid, this moral in your ear I drop : 

When lover's hopes within their hearts you prison^ 
Fly out of sight and hearing ; do not stop 

To look behind and listen. — Soule, 

MISS LAUGH AND MISS FRET. 

^RIES little Miss Fret, 

In a very great pet : 
I hate this warm weather; it's horrid to tan, 
It scorches my nose. 
And blisters my toes. 
And wherever I go, I must carry a fan.'' 

Chirps little Miss Laugh : 

"Why, I couldn't tell half 
The fun I am having this bright summer day. 

I sing through the hours, 

I cull pretty flowers. 
And ride like a queen on the sweet smelling hay." 

MONTEREY. 

E were not many, we who stood 
Before the iron sleet that day ; 
Yet many a gallant spirit would 
Give half his years if but he could 
Have with us been at Monterey. 

Now here, now there, the shot it hailed 

In deadly drifts of fiery spray. 
Yet not a single soldier quailed 
When wounded comrades round him wailed 

Their dying shout at Monterey. 

And on, still on, our column kept 

Through walls of flame its wavering way ; 
Where fell the dead, the living stepped. 
Still charging on the guns which swept 
The slippery streets of Monterey. 

The foe himself recoiled aghast, 

When, striking where he strongest lay. 
We swooped his flanking batteries past, 
And braving full their murderous blast, 
Stormed home the towers of Monterey. 

Our banners on those turrets wave, 

And there our evening bugles play , 
Where orange-boughs above their grave, 
Keep green the memory of the brave 
Who fought and fell at Monterey. 




EXERCISES IN EASY NARRATIVES. 



57 




We are not many, we who pressed 

Beside the brave who fell that day ; 
But who of us has not confessed 
He'd rather share their warrior rest 
Than not have been at Monterey ? 

— Hoffjnan. 

A WOMAN'S WATCH. 

H, I am a woman's watch, am I, 
But I would that I were not ; 
For if you knew, you would not deny 
That mine is a sorry lot. 
She will let me rest for a great long while. 

Then all of a sudden seek 
To twist me up so tight that I'll 
Keep going for a week. 

She leaves me open when she will. 

Till I'm sick of dirt and things ; 
Of pins and hair I have got my fill, 

And of buttons, hooks and strings. 
There's a four-leaf clover in me, too, 

And a piece of a photograph ; 
I'm stuffed completely through and through, 

With toothpicks, cloves and chaff. 

My hands are twisted to and fro, 
I'm thumped and jarred, alack ! 

And then, if I fail to straightway go, 
I'm pounded front and back. 

With her hat-pin all my wheels she'll pry- 
Till she breaks them every one, 

And then she'll say : " I don't see why 
This mean old thing won't run ! *' 

LOVE LIGHTENS LABOR. 

GOOD wife rose from her bed one mom, 

And thought, with a nervous dread, 
Of the piles of clothes to be washed, and 
more 

Than a dozen mouths to be fed, 
'* There's the meals to be got for the men in the field, 

And the children to fix away 
To school, and the milk to be skimmed and churned ; 
And all to be done this day." 

It had rained in the night, and all the wood 

Was wet as it could be ; 
There were puddings and pies to bake, besides 

A loaf of cake for tea. 
Vnd the day was hot, and her aching head 

Throbbed wearily as she said. 




" If maidens but knew what good wives know. 
They would not be in haste to wed ! " 

"Jennie, what do you think I told Ben Brown .?" 

Called the farmer from the well ; 
And a flush crept up to his bronzed brow, 

And his eyes half-blushingly fell : 
" It was this," he said, and coming near 

He smiled, and stooping down. 
Kissed her cheek — " 'twas this, that you were the best 

And the dearest wife in town ! '' 

The farmer went back to the field, and the wife, 

In a smiling, absent way, 
Sang snatches of tender little songs 

She'd not sung for many a day. 
And the pain in her head was gone, and the clothes 

Were white as the foam of the sea ; 
Her bread was light, and her butter was sweet, 

And as golden as it could be. 

"Just think," the children all called in a breath, 

" Tom Wood has run off to sea ! 
He wouldn't, I know, if he'd only had 

As happy a home as we." 
The night came down, and the good wife smiled 

To herself, as she softly said : 
" 'Tis so sweet to labor for those we love — 

It's not strange that maids will wed ! " 

ABOU BEN ADHEM. 

BOU BEN ADHEM— may his tribe increase! 
Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace. 
And saw, within the moonlight in his room, 
Making it rich, and hke a lily in bloom, 

An angel, writing in a book of gold. 

Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold. 

And to the Presence in the room he said, 

" What writest thou ? " The vision raised its head. 

And, with a look made all of sweet accord, 

Answered, " The names of those who love the Lord." 

"And is mine one?" said Abou. "Nay, not so," 
Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low, 
But cheerily still; and said, " I pray thee, then, 
Write me as one that loves his fellow-men." 

The angel wrote and vanished. The next night 

It came again with a great wakening light, 

And showed the names whom love of God had 

blessed ; 
And lo ! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest. 

— Leigh Hunt, 




ESSAYS TO BE WRITTEN FROM OUTLINES. 



f 



'T is considered best by most experienced 
writers to prepare a plan of the com- 
Qil. position, of whatever character it may 
be. In this way you are able to properly 
arrange your thoughts, and are less likely 
to omit something which ought to be treated. 

There are authors who map out in their 
minds a general plan without committing it 
formally to paper. The disadvantage of this 
method is that something is liable to be 
forgotten, or inserted in the wrong place. 
Many authors compose a whole book with 
nothing more in mind than the general out- 
line: others draw out what lawyers would 
call a "brief," from which they build up their 
production step by step. 

To aid you in learning how to write com- 
positions, I have inserted here the outlines 
of essays from which the complete pro- 
ductions are to be written. Many of these 
subjects will compel you to consult books in 
order that you may obtain the information 
you require, yet this will only be a benefit to 
you, and will amply repay all the time and 
labor you expend. 

You do not need to confine yourself to the 
thoughts suggested in these outlines. Think 
for yourself; do not always go on crutches. 
Introduce new matter and express whatever 
is suggested to your mind, that will make 
your production complete and interesting. 

The following is an outline of a brief and 
simple essay on "The Cat." 

1. Where found. 

2. Why kept. 

3 Fitted to be a beast of prey: — (a) Teeth; {d) 
Claws ; {c) Pads. 

4. Fitted for night prowling: —(a)Fur: (/^) Eyes. 

5. Fitted to be a pet. 

6. Habits. 

• The outline may be filled in thus: — 

A cat is found in nearly every house. Sometimes 
>t is kept as a pet only, and sometimes it is kept only 
58 



to catch mice, but most people keep one for ooth 
purposes. The cat is fitted by nature to be a beast 
of prey ; hence its claws and teeth are sharp a jd long, 
and under its feet are pads, which enable it to walk 
without making a noise. The cat is also fitted for 
prowling at night. Its thick fur keeps it from feeling 
cold, and its wonderful eyes enable it to see almost 
in the dark. Cats make good pets because they are 
pretty, clean and gentle. They like to lie on some- 
thing soft and warm. When stroked they purr. 
Kittens are very playful. 

1 . Found nearly all over world ; friend to man. 

2. Uses : — Hunting, guarding, minding sheep, etc. 

3. Description : Teeth for tearing, legs for running, 
coat for warmth ; differences between cat and dog. 

4. Habits. 

Kinds of Dogs, 

1. Name various kinds. 

2. Showing how structure of each kind fits it for its 
work ; as 

{a) Greyhound — shape, legs, chest for swiftness. 

{U) Bloodhound — broad head, large no&e for 
smell. 

(<r) Bulldog — size of head, strength of jaw and 
of body. 

[d) Newfoundland — thick, oily coat, webbed fc*", 
etc., etc. 

Hay, 

1. Grass allowed to grow from early spring. 

2. Ripe in June or July. 

3. Cut with a scythe or machine. 

4. Spread out to dry in sun — turned over — raked 
into " cocks " — carted. 

Grain. 

1. Different kinds : — wheat, barley, oats. 

2. Sown in spring (wheat sometimes late In 
autumn). 

3. Ground prepared by ploughing, harrowing. 

4. Sowing (describe). 

5. Weeding. 

6. Harvesting : — cut with sickle, scythe c • mac hint 
— bound — carted. 

Flour, 

1. Wheat threshed to get grain and chah from ear, 

2. Winnowed to separate chaff from grain. 

3. Ground in mill (wind, steam). 

4. Skin (bran) separated from flour. 



EASY ESSAYS TO BE WRITTEN FROM OUTLINES. 



59 



Bread. 

1. Generally made from flour. 

2. Flour mixed with water, a little salt and yeast, 
into sponge — yeast to make it " rise." 

3. Made into loaves. 

4. Baked in oven. 

Butter. 

1. Made from cream. 

2. Milk placed in shallow pans — cream rises — 
skimmed. 

3. Cream begins to turn sour — churned. 

4. Describe churn. 

5. Churning divides cream into butf*^r and butter- 
milk. 

6. Butter run off — butter washed. 

7. Beaten, often salted, moulded. 

Lion. 

1. Cat kind — teeth, claws, sheath pad, 

2. About four feet high, tawny yellow, tufted tail, 
mane of male. 

3. Lion like cat steals up to prey. 

4. Brave. 

5. Cubs playful. 

Tiger. 

1. Compare tiger and lion : — 

{a) Lion in Africa and Asia, tiger in Asia. 
{h) Tiger as strong, more fierce and cunning. 
{c) Tiger golden fur with black stripes, no 
mane, tail not tufted. 

[d') Tiger, like lion, lies in wait. 

2. Man-eating tigers. 

3. Hunted, often on elephants. 

Elephant. 

1. Largest land animal, eight to ten feet high. 

2. Very heavy body, thick skin, little hair, legs 
ihick. 

3. Head large, tusks sixty to seventy pounds each. 

4. Short neck ; why ? 

5. Trunk ; why needed ? — describe. 
6i Clever, obedient, faithful. 

Stories of Elephants. 
Tell a story showing cleverness of elephant. 

Owl. 

1. Night bird ; therefore eyes large, hearing sharp, 
feathers thick. 

2. Downy feathers make flight silent. 

3. Beak and claws. 

4. Food. 

5. Haunts. 



Swallow. 

1. Made for speed ; feathers firm and close, wings 
large, tail long and pointed, legs short. 

2. Lives on insects ; large, wide mouth. 

3. Bird of passage ; comes in spring, leaves in 
autumn. 

4. Kind : — 

{a) Chimney martin or swallow — builds oTteii 
under eaves. 

{b) Sand martin : smallest, builds m sandy 
banks or clifts. 

Cuckoo. 

1. Named from cry. 

2. Bird of passage — 

In April 

Come he will ; , , . . 

In July 

He prepares to fly ; 

In August 

Go he must. 

3. Description : — size of magpie or small pigeon ; 
color : — blue gray above ; white, with slaty bars be- 
low ; wings black, with white at tips. 

4. Lays eggs in nest of other birds — often a hedge- 
sparrow. 

Tea. 

1. From China, Assam, Ceylon. 

2. Evergreen shrub, glossy leaves, white flower. 

3. Three crops a year, first and best in spring. 

4. Leaves gathered, placed in shallow baskets, 
dried first in sun, then over charcoal ; rolled between 
hands. 

5. Two kinds, green and black. 

Coffee. 

1. Arabia, Brazil, East and West Indies, Ceylon. 

2. Evergreen tree, eight to twelve feet high. 

3. Tree bears a dark red berry, size of cherry, and 
containing two hard seeds (the coffee "bean ") each 
in a skin. 

4. Berries gathered, dried, passed under rollers to 
remove skin. 

5. Roasted in a closed iron vessel over slow fire. 

6. Ground. 

Coal. 

1 . How formed : — Places where forests, woods, etc., 
growing, sank — covered with water bringing soil — 
rose again — vegetable remains hardened into coal. 

2. Hence found in layers. 

3. Mining : — shaft, galleries. 

4. Dangers: — fall of roof ; flooding; explosions of 
" fire-damp ; " afterwards " choke-damp." 

5. Safety lamp. 



6C 



EASY ESSAYS TO BE WRITTEN FROM OUTLINES. 



Iron. 

1. Iron ore found in many places, worked on coal 
fields ; why ? 

2. To drive away sulphur roasted in kiln, or with 
layers of coal on ground. 

3. Mixed with coal and lime and placed m blast 
furnace. 

4. Earthy matters unite with lime to form " slag." 

5. Melted iron falls to bottom— run off " cast iron." 

6. Carbon added to iron to make steel. 

Spjing. 

1. What months ? 

2. Welcome season after short, cold days of winter. 

3. Trees and flowers — blossom. 

4. Sowing. 

5. Pleasant walks in the country. 

Christmas, 

1. When? 

2. Most general holiday. 

3. Why kept — " peace and goodwill.'' 

4. How kept: — business stopped; cards; presents; 
meetings of friends; Christmas fare; trees. 

Your School, 



1. Name. 

2. Situation. 

3. History. 

4. Subjects taught. 

5. Games. 

6. How you may do credit to it. 



1. Name. 

2. Situation. 

3. Population. 

4. Chief industry. 

5. Chief buildings. 

6. History. 



A?ty Town, 



Linen. 



1. Made from flax-plant about four feet high, blue 
flower. 

2. Ripe flax pulled up, dried. 

3. Seed (linseed) removed by pulling stalks through 
a kind of comb. 

4. Stalks consist of two parts, woody and fibrous. 

5. Steeped in water to make separation of two 
easier. 

6. Beaten to break woody part. 

7. Combed to remove it. 

8. Spun, bleached, woven. 

9. Us«s. 



Blind Man's Buff, 

1. One of the players has handkerchief Med ovei 
eyes. 

2. Tries to catch any of the others. 

3. If he catches any one he must say who it is. 

4. If he succeeds, player caught takes his place. 

5. The fun of the game. 

Base Ball. 

1. Describe bases (number, positions, etc.). 

2. Describe bat and ball. 

3. How many players ? 

4. Pitcher, catcher, basemen, fielders, 

5. How " runs '' are made. 

6. How a player is " out." 

7. How one side is out. 

8. Which " team " wins ? 

The Blacksmiths Shop, 

1. Describe the blacksmith. 

2. His work. 

3. Fire, bellows. 

4. Anvil, hammers, tongs, water-trough. 

5. " The children coming home from school . . . .* 

The Carpenter' s Shop. 

1. Work. 

2. Bench, planes, chisels, hammers, mallets, axe, 
adze, gimlets, saws, rule. 

3. Compare blacksmith and carpenter. 

Soldier, 

1. Appearance. 

2. Work. 

3. Where he lives in peace and in war, 

4. Recruits, drill, reviews, band. 

5. Battle. 

6. Quahties of a soldier. 

A Farm, Laborer, 

1. Work varies with season. 

2. In spring work connected with sowing. 

3. Summer — weeding, haymaking. 

4. Autumn — harvesting; sometimes ploughing. 

5. Winter — looking after stock. 

A Visit to Washington, 

1. On what river situated ? 

2. Founded when? When captured by the British? 

3. Streets and avenues. 

4. Capitol building, dome. Senate chamber, Cham- 
ber of the House of Representatives. 

5. White House. 

6. Buildings of Government Departments, 




PHOTO. BY MORRISON, OnlCAGO 



RECITATION IN COSTUME 



i 




$% ^' •■m' 



Oh, C0I.UMPTA, THK GEM OF THK OCKAN , 

The home of ttte brave and the free. 



I 



EASY ESSAYS TO BE WRITTEN FROM OUTLINES. 



61 



'J, Smithsonian Institute. 
8. Washington's monument. 

» Cleanliness, 

I. Of person. 

{a) Describe pores. Waste of body passes 
through them hke smoke up a chimney ; 
therefore must be kept open, 
[J)) Diseases arise if waste cannot pass off. 
' {c) Dirty person disagreeable. 

2. Of clothes. 

Clean person impossible in dirty clothes. 

3. Of houses. 

{a) Dust passes into lungs. 

{b) Dirty houses — bad smells. 

(r) Plague (formerly common) due to dirt. 

Lying. 

1. What it is — willful attempt to deceive. 

2. Words may be true and yet a he because meant 
to deceive. 

3. There may be lies without words. 

4. Why wrong. 

5. Consequence to Har — not beheved even when 
speaking truth. 

6. Fable 01 boy that cried " Wolf." 

Cruelty to Animals. 

I. Animals can feel. 

How would you hKCr cruel treatment? 
" Do unto others . . . / 
Animals grateful for kindness. 
Any story to show this. 

Thrift, 

1. " Penny saved, penny earned." 

2. Name some things on which ciliildren spend 
money needlessly. 

3. Advantages of saving : — " Take care of the 
pennies and the dollars will take care of them- 
selves ; " savings can be turned to account; pro- 
vision for a " rainy day." 

4. Aids to thrift: — Savings banks, buildmg so- 
cieties, etc. 

Make Hay while the Sun Shines. 

1. Meaning of proverb. Hay is grass dried in the 
sun ; if not " made " on first opportunity, it may be 
spoiled by rain. 

2. Proverb teaches us to miss no opportunity. 

3. Reasons : — Do not know what may happen by 
to-morrow ; chance perhaps lost forever ; ' ' The mill 
cannot grind with the water that is past." 

4. Story to show danger of putting off. 



A Rolling Stone Gathers no Moss. 

1. Meaning of the proverb — persevere. 

2. Illustrations : — 

{a) If you do not finish a study begun, all the 

time spent on it is wasted. 
ib) Three removes are as bad as a fire, 
(r) By staying in the same place you make 

friends and a !)osition. 

'^ Virtue is its Own Reward'' 
I Virtue often gains for a man honor, wealth, 
friends. 

2. But though it brought no such rewards it should 
be sought. 

3. For the approval of one's own conscience is 
more important than the approval of any one else. 

Easy Subjects for Compositions. 

Rabbit. Fox. Pig. Mouse. Bear. Camel. Monkey, 
Sheep. Goat. Cow. Hen. Duck. Robin. Lark. 
Canary. Ostrich. Eagle. Pigeon. Gull. Sparrow. 
Whale, Seal. Bee. Spider. Fly. Butterfly. Shark. 
Herring. Mackerel. Crab. Cod, Frog. Crocodile. 
Turtle. Adder. Cocoa. Sugar. Sago. Cork. India rub- 
ber. Potato. Turnip. Salt. Lead. Tin. Copper. Gold. 
Knife. Glass. Paper. Soap. Pins. Needles. Can- 
dles. Cotton. Silk. Woollen cloth. Autumn. Winter. 
Any game with marbles. Making and flying kites. 
Boating. Swimming. Fishing. Football. Skating. 
Lawn tennis. Punctuality. Industry. Perseverance. 
Obedience. Bad language. Good manners. Good 
habits. Temperance. Honesty. The " Golden Rule." 
How to make yourself useful at home. 

Describe:— ((2) A house. iU) A street. {c) A 
church, {d) Any village (<?) Any town. \f) A 
farm, (^g) A mill, {h) The sea- side, (z) Common 
spring flowers. (7) The most beautiful place you 
have seen. {k) A snow-storm. (/) A thunder- 
storm. 

Describe the life and work of: — {a) A mason, ib) 
A gardener, {c) A teacher, {d) A doctor. (<?) A 
sailor, (/) A policeman, (^g) A postman. [K] A 
tailor, {i) A baker. (J) A shepherd, {k) A fisher- 
man. (/) An errand-boy. [in] A painter. 

Describe a visit to : — («) The seaside, ib) Chicago 
or some other large town, {c) The Zoological Gar- 
dens or a menagerie, {d') A circus„ [e') A school 
exhibition. (/) A department store. (^) A country 
dairy. {K) A picture gallery. 

Tell a story about :— («) A dog. [h) A cat. (c) A 
horse. (d) A monkey. (e) A parrot. (/) An 
elephant, {g) A hen. 



62 



USE OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 



Tell any stories you know illustrating the following 
sayings : — 

(a) " Look before you leap." 
(^) " Liars are not believed even when they 
speak the truth.'' 

[c) " People are judged by the company they 

keep.'' 

(d) " Penny wise and pound foolish." 

(f) " Count not your chickens before they are 

hatched." 
(/) " A friend in need is a friend indeed." 



{£•) "Union is strength.'' 
Explain and illustrate the following proverbs :- - 
(a) "A stitch in time saves nine." 

(d) "A prudent man foreseeth the evil ; foola 

pass on and are punished." 
{c) " The more haste the less speed." 
{d) " Strike the iron w^hile it is hot." 

(e) " Touch pitch and be defiled." 
(/) " Rome was not built in a day." 
(^) " No gains without pains." 

(k) " Nothing venture nothing win/ 



Use of Illustrations. 




^£> IT ■'^ ^P^ illustration is always a help to a 
writer or speaker. The mind of the 
reader or hearer is interested in 
tracing the comparison, and re- 
ceives a stronger impression than it does 
when the thought is stated simply by itself. 

Many of the most famous orators have 
been very gifted in employing similes to ex- 
press their meaning. You should cultivate 
the habit of using illustrations. Although 
there is sometimes danger in employing 
them, yet where carefully and rightly used 
they not only ornament the composition, 
but render its thoughts and ideas more 
striking, more impressive and more easily 
remembered. 

A Simile is a comparison explicitly stated ; 

as, 

Now does he feel his title 
Hang loose upon him like a giant's robe 
Upon a dwarfish thief. 

How far that little candle throws his beams ! 
So shines a good deed in a naughty world. 

An evil soul producing holy witness 

Is like a goodly apple rotten at the heart. 

The course (jf a great statesman resembles that of 
navigable rivers, avoiding immovable obstacles with 
noble bends of concession, seeking the broad levels 
of opinion on which men soonest settle and longest 
dwell, following and marking the most imperceptible 
slopes of national tendency, yet always aiming at 
direct advances, always recruited from sources nearer 



heaven, and sometimes bursting open paths of pro- 
gress and fruitful human commerce through what 
seem the eternal barriers of both. 

A Metaphor is a condensed Simile. The 
comparison is impHed, but not expressed at 
length ; thus : — 

But look, the morn in russet mantle clad 
Walks o'er the dew of yon high eastern hill. 
The simile implied here is, " The morning like to 
a person clad in russet mantle walks," etc 

Stand, therefore, having your loins girt about with 
truth, and having on the breastplate of righteous- 
ness . . . above all taking the shield of faith where- 
with ye may be able to quench all the fiery darts of 
the wicked. 

Similes and Metaphors ar,^ employed 

1. To aid the understandirg. 

We comprehend the unknown best by comparison 
with the known. 

2. To intensify thf. ^r^elings ; as 
Offence's gilded hand //lay shove by justice. 
What a piece of worJ. is man ; how noble in rea- 
son ! how infinite in ifa^i'ulty ! in form and moving 
how express and admirable ! in action how like an 
angel ! in apprehension how like a god ! the beauty 
of the world ! the paragon of animals I 

3. To give point and force to what we 
wish to express. 

Our conduct towards the Indians has been that of 
a man who subscribes to hospitals, weeps at charity 
sermons, carries out broth and blankets to beggars, 
and then comes homo and beats his wife and chil- 
dren. 



USE OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 



65 



Howe'er it be, it seems to me 
'Tis only noble to be good. 
Kind hearts are more than coronets, 
And simple faith than Norman blood. 

— Tennyson. 
Every one must admit the beauty and force of the 
great poet's comparison of kind hearts to coronets, 
and simple faith to Norman blood, implying that 
each object mentioned surpasses the one with which 
it is compared. 

The following rules should be observed in 
the conduct of Metaphors : — 

1. Do not use metaphors, except when needed to 
make a sentence clearer or stronger. Needless meta- 
phors are a blemish instead of an ornament. 

2. Do not pursue a simile or metaphor too far. 
The further it is pursued the less likely is the com- 
parison to hold. 

3. Metaphors should avoid mean or disagreeable 
details. 

14. Metaphors should not be forced. Some meta- 
•^hors are so far-fetched that (as Mr. Lowell says) one 
could wish their authors no worse fate than to be 
obliged to carry them back whence they came. 

5. Do not mix literal and metaphorical language. 
In the sentence 
I was walking on the barren hills of sin and sorrow 

near Welshpool, 
" the barren hills of sin and sorrow '' is metaphori- 
cal, and "near Welshpool " is literal. 

Examples of Apt Illustrations. 

But I am constant as the northern star,' * 

Of whose true-fix' d and resting quality 

There is no fellow in the firmament. — Shakespeare. 
I had rather be a dog and bay the moon, 
Than such a Roman. — Shakespeare. 

There is a tide in the affairs of men 

Which taken at the flood, leads on to fortune ; 

Omitted, all the voyage of their life 

Is bound in shallows and in miseries. — Shakespeare. 

Squat like a toad, close at the ear of Eve. — Milton. 

Now morn, her rosy steps in eastern clime 

» Advancing, sow'd the earth with orient pearl. 

—Milton. 
So may'st thou live, till like ripe fruit thou drop 
Into thy mother's lap. — Milton. 
Methinks I see in my mind a noble and puissant 
nation rousing herself like a strong man after sleep, 
and shaking her invincible locks. — Milton. 



There is a reaper whose name is death. 

And with his sickle keen 
He reaps the bearded grain at a breath. 

And the flowers that grow between. 

— Longfellow. 

And the night shall be filled with music, 
And the cares that infest the day 

Shall fold their tents like the Arabs, 
And as silently steal away. — Longfellow. 

But what am I ? 
An infant crying in the night : 
An infant crying for the light, 
And with no language but a cry. — Tennyson. 

But Memory blushes at the sneer, 
And Honor turns with frown defiant, 

And Freedom, leaning on her spear, 

Laughs louder than the laughing giant. — Holmes. 

There comes Emerson first, whose rich words, every 

one, 
Are like gold nails in temples to hang trophies on. 

— Lowell. 
In winter, when the dismal rain 
Came down in slanting lines. 
And wind, that grand old harper, smote 
His thunder-harp of pines. — Mulock. 

Men not only want a competency, but they want 
a ten- story competency; then they want religion as 
a lightning rod to ward off the bolts of divine judg- 
ment. — Beecher. 

As the river is swollen by the melting snows of 
spring and runs with greater force and volume, so, 
when he is aroused, his thoughts and words pour 
forth impetuously, and he exhibits the strength and 
majesty of the most commanding eloquence. 

Examples of Faulty Illustrations. 

Peace has poured oil on the troubled waters, and 
they blossom like the rose. 

She has come down among us in her floating 
robes, bearing the olive-branch in her beak. 

The American eagle broods over his nest in the 
rocky fastnesses, and his young shall lie down with 
the lamb. 

We have gone through the floods, and have turned 
their hot ploughshares into pruning-hooks. 

May we be as lucky in the future, preserving for- 
ever our Goddess of Liberty one and inseparable. 

Corrections. — Peace may pour o^^ on troubled 
waters, but waters never blossom. 



64 



HOW TO COMPOSE AND WRITE LETTERS. 



Anything that wears floating robes is not furnished 
with a beak. 

The young of eagles are not in the habit of lying 
down with lambs. 



Floods do not have hot ploughshares. 

Why should anyone wish to preserve the Goddess 
of Liberty inseparable, as it would be an unheard-of 
experience for a Goddess to be divided .'' 



How TO Compose and Write Letters. 



^\ I O be a good letter writer is an accom- 
jl plishment as desirable as it is rare. 
Few persons possess the faculty of 
writing an interesting letter, politely and 
gracefully expressed. Unless you are an ex- 
ception to the general rule you become stiff 
and formal when you attempt to express 
your thoughts to a friend, or make known 
your wants to a man of busmess. The 
epistle is labored, unnatural and lacking in 
that ease which is the charm of conversation. 

" I now take my pen in hand," etc. Do 
get rid of all old, set forms of expression. 
Imagine the person to whom you are writing 
as placed right before you, and talk to him 
with your pen as you would with your 
tongue. 

There can be but one opinion concerning the 
general value of correspondence. How often 
people complain that they do not get letters 
from their friends. Neglect can be shown in 
no way more effectively than by failing to 
answer a letter when it ought to be written. 

In writing a letter, care should be taken 
that the different parts are properly arranged. 

First comes the Address of the Writer. 

This is written at the top of the paper, towards the 
right side. If the address consists of several parts, 
each part is given a separate line ; thus — 
Livonia, 

Livingston Co., 

New York. 

After the address comes the Date of 
Writing. 

Next comes the Form of Address. 

this is always placed towards the left of the page, 



and varies according to the relations between the 
sender and the receiver of the letter. Writing to an 
intimate fritnd, one may say, " My dear Tom," or (a 
Httle less familiarly) " My dear Brown.'' Writing to 
a friend who is also a superior in age or position, one 
would say, "My dear Mr. Brown," "Dear Sir" is 
formal, but claims some small degree of acquaint- 
ance or regard. "Sir" is purely formal. Similarly 
we may have, "My dear Annie," " My dear Mrs. 
Brown," " Dear Madam," and " Madam." In writ- 
ing to Miss Jones, a stranger, you may not wish to 
say, " Dear Miss." It would be better in tliis in- 
stance to address her as " Miss Jones." 

After the form of address comes the 
Letter. 

A friendly letter should be easy and pleasant in 
style — it should be, in fact, a talk on paper. In a 
business letter, on the other hand, the style is brief 
and concise. The first aim of the writer is to make 
himself understood, the next to be brief. 

After the letter comes the Subscription, 



as. 



Or. 



Sincerely yours, 

Alexander Argyle. 

Respectfully yours, 

New England Coal Co. 

Or in more formal style, 

I am, dear sir, 

Your obedient servant, 

Thomas Lancaster, 

The subscription is arranged like the address, Due 
l:)egins further to the left. The form of sul^scription 
varies with the form of address. 

A business letter ends with the Address 
of the Person to whom it is Sent. 

This is written in the left corner. A friendly letter 
generally ends with the subscription. 



HOW TO COMPOSE AND WRITE LETTERS. 



65 



Sir 



Examples of Letters. 
Application for a Situation. 

345 Lancaster Street, 

15th February, 189-. 



Seeing by your advertisement in this morning's 
" Standard " that you are in need of an office boy, I 
beg leave to apply for the position. I have been for 
six years a pupil in the Commercial School, Old 
Bridge Street, My teacher permits me to refer you 
to him for an account of my conduct and abilities. I 
have therefore only to add that if I am fortunate 
enough to enter your employ, it shall be my aim to 
sejve you diligently and faithfully. 
I am, iir, 

Your obedient servant, 

Thomas Watson. 
J. W. Chambers, Esq., 

97 Dearborn Street. 

Letters of Invitation. 

Newark, September 11. 
My Dear Joe : 

Myself, and a half dozen other good fellows, are 
going to devote a few hours on Tuesday evening to 
the enjoyment of j-efreshments, chit-chat, and so on. 
I hope you will make on*e, as we have not enjoyed 
the " feast of reason and flow of soul " in each 
other's company for some time past. 

Believe me. dear Joe, 

Yours ever, 

Harry. 

Madison Square, November 12. 
Dear Mr. Robinson : 

My old friend Richard Roy is coming to take a 
chop with me on Saturday, the 1 5th, and I hope you 
will come and join us at six o'clock. I know you 
are not partial to large parties, so trust you will 
^hink us two sufficient company. 

Yours ever truly, 

Washington, July 3. 
Hon. J. B. Granger, 
My Dear Sir : 
We are endeavoring to get up a small excursion 
to visit Mount Vernon on the loth of this month. Will 
you do us the favor of making one of our number ? 

Mrs. and my family desire their compliments, 

and request me to mention that they have taken 
upon themselves the task of providing the " creature 
comforts " for that occasion, and trust that their ex- 



ertions will meet with unanimous approval. Should 
you have no previous engagement for that day, and 
feel disposed to join our party, a carriage will be at 
your door by 10 o'clock on Thursday mornmg; and 
believe me to be, 

My dear sir, yours most sincerely, 
Hon. J. B. Granger. 
P. S. — The favor of an early answer will oblige. 

Washington, Julv 3. 
Mr. E. B. Allen, 
My Dear Sir : 

Replying to your kind invitation of this morning, 
I beg leave to say it would aiford me great pleasure 
to join your excursion to Mount Vernon on the loth 
inst. I will await your carriage at 10 o'clock on 
Thursday morning. Thanking you for your wel- 
come invitation, 

I am, my dear sir, very truly yours, 

J. B. Granger. 
Mr. E. B. Allen. 

Notes of Invitation. 

Mr. and Mrs. Thompson request the pleasure of 
Mr. and Mrs. James's company, on Wednesday 
evening next, at eight o'clock, to join a social party. 
An immediate answer will much oblige. 

Fifth Avenue, January 9th. 

Mr. and Mrs. James will be most happy to avail 
themselves of Mr. and Mrs. Thompson's kind invita- 
tion to join their social party as requested. 

West Street, January loth. 

Mr. and Mrs. James greatly regret their inability 
to accept Mr. and Mrs. Thompson's kind invitation 
to join their social party. Nothing would have af- 
forded them more pleasure than to be presen*- b"t 
family affliction prevents them. 

West Street, January loth. 

My Dear Bertha, — A few friends will be here oi< 
Wednesday evening next, to take a social cup ot 
tea, and chat about mankind in particular. Give us 
the pleasure of your company. 

S. BUCKMAN. 

Prince Street, Saturday morning. 

My Dear Sophie, — It affords me great pleasure 
to inform you that I shall join your party on Wed- 
nesday evening next. Bertha Merwin. 

Spring Street, Saturday afternoon. 



ee 



HOW TO COMPOSE AND WRITE LETTERS. 



Letters of Congratulatio7i. 

Louisville, Ky., February lo. 
My Dear Howard : 

The news of your good fortune gives me great 
satisfaction. No one can possess true friendship 
without rejoicing in the prosperity of a friend. To 
one who has always been manly, true and noble, 
and who has labored persistently toward a particular 
end, success must be extremely gratifying. 

it will ever be my delight to hear that you are 
prospering in your undertakings, and if in any way 
I can serve you, you can rely upon my best en- 
deavors. With every good wish for yourself and 
Mrs. Kerr, Ever faithfully yours, 

St. Louis, Mo., June 15, 189-. 
Dear Old Friend : 

The happy announcement that a son and heir has 
oeen born to you, gives me extreme satisfaction. I 
always thought you would distinguish yourself in 
some way, and would do something whereby your 
name might descend to posterity. And now, my 
worthy chum, it seems you have done it. Blessings 
on you .• Very sincerely yours. 

Love Letters. 
My Dearest Harriet : 

I cannot express the happiness I feel in finding 
that my letter to your respected parents has been 
crowned with success, and 1 flatter myself, notwith- 
standing your temxporizing with my feelings, in thus 
reserving your avowal of a reciprocal attachment, that 
you, my dear girl, will not be unsusceptible to its value, 
but condescend to acknowledge an equal happiness 
with myself at its contents. In token of the confidence 
with which your dear letter has inspired me, I beg 
leave to present you with a trifle, the acceptance of 
which will be highly flattering to him whose image it 
portrays ; and permit me the fond pleasure of in- 
dulging a behef that you will esteem the trifle, in 
affectionate remembrance of the original. 

In obedience to your father's command, I shall 
wait upon him at the appointed time ; till then, my 
beloved Harriet, adieu. 

Ever your devoted admirer. 

Dear Sir: 

I make no doubt of the truth of your assertions, 
relative to yourself, character, and connections ; but 



as I think I am too young to enter into such a seri- 
ous engagement, I request I may hear no more of 
your passion for the present ; in every other respect, 
I am. Sir, Yours very sincerely, 

Outlines to be Expanded into Letters. 

Lwiting a Frie?id to Tea. 

1. Can you come to tea — day — hour. 

2. My birthday — several friends coming. 

3. Tea in orchard — then cricket in field 

4. Hope mother will let you come — be home by 
nine. 

Accepting Invitation. 

1. Thanks for invitation — happy to accept. 

2. Glad to meet . 

3. Look forward to pleasant evening. 

Declining Invitation. 

1. Thanks for invitation — should have been glad 
to come. 

2. Sorry to lose chance of meeting . 



3. Father some time ago arranged to take me and 
my brother to . 

4. Hope you will have pleasant evening and many 
happy returns. 

From a Town Child to a Country Child. 

1. Town crowded — noisy — dirty — glad to get into 
country. 

2. Shall never forget visit to the country last 
summer. 

3. No streets — few houses — beautiful views — quiet 
—sweet air. 

4. Fine weather — many enjovable walks. 

5. Returned to town almost envying a country life. 

Answer from Country Child to Town Child. 

1. You almost envying country life — I almost 
envying town life. 

2. Country has the advantages you describe, but 
you saw it in summer. 

3. Difficult to get about in bad weather — especially 
in winter when much bad weather. 

4. Dull — no libraries, exhibitions, meetings, con- 
certs, etc. 

5. Town may have all the disadvantages named, 
but always plenty to see, opportunities for study, 
friendly intercourse, entertainments. 

6. Traveling easy. 



Specimens of Elegant Composition 

FROM 

World-Renowned Authors. 




O not consider yourself too ambi- 
tious when you make an earnest 
effort to express your thoughts 
so well that your productions will compare 
favorably with those of the best writers. 
You should have specimens of the best 
composition before you. The following 
pages contain such, and 3/ou will readily see 
how the most famous authors construct their 
sentences, what apt words they choose, and 
how easily, yet forcibly, they express their 
idea«- 



Do not be disheartened if you fail to come 
up to the standard here placed before you. It 
is related of the great painter, Correggio, 
that he was once almost ready to fling away 
his brush, exclaiming, ^^ I can never paint 
like Raphael." But he persevered, and at 
length the great painter whom he admired 
so much said, " If I were not Raphael, I 
would wish to be Correggio." You should 
take the best writers for your models and set 
your standard high. Be a severe critic of 
yourself, and do your very best. 




GETTING THE RIGHT START 

By J. G. Holland. 
In clear expression of thought and use of plain, forcible English, the works of Doctor Holland are superior 
to those of most authors. He does not employ large, overgrown words, but such as are easily understood. 
This is one secret of the popularity of his writings. Dr. Holland was born at Belchertown, Mass., in 1819, 
and died October 12, 1881. He was associate editor of the " Springfield Repubhcan,'' and in 1870 became 
editor of " Scribner's Magazine.'' Both as a writer of prose and poetry he is hekl in high esteem by all 
lovers of elevated thought and pure diction. 

articles for the North American Review — 
at least I hope everybody will not, for it is 
a publication which makes me a quarterly 
visit ; but everybody, who is somebody, can 
do something. There is a wide range of effort 
between holding a skein of silk for a lady 
and saving her from drowning — between col- 
lecting voters on election day and teaching 
a Sunday-school class. 

A man must enter society of his own free 
will, as an active element or a valuable com- 
ponent, before he can receive the recognition 
that every true man longs for. I take it that 
this is right. A man who is willing to enter 
society as a beneficiary is mean, and does 
not deserve recognition. 

There is no surer sign of an unmanly and 

67 



OCIETY demands that a young 
man shall be somebody, not only 
but that he shall prove his right to 
the title; and it has a right to demand this. 
Society will not take this matter upon trust 
— at least, not for a long time, for it has 
been cheated too frequently. Society is not 
very particular what a man does, so that it 
proves him to be a man : then it will bow to 
him, and make room for him. 

I know a young man who made a place 
for himself by writing an article for the 
North American Review : nobody read the 
article, so far as I know, but the fact that he 
wrote such an article, that it was very long, 
and that it was published, did the business 
for hini Everybody, however, cannot write 



68 



SPECLMENS OF ELEGANT COMPOSITION. 



cowardly spirit than a vague desire for help, 
a wish to depend, to lean upon somebody, 
and enjoy the fruits of the industry of others. 
There are multitudes of young men, I sup- 
pose, who indulge in dreams of help from 
some quarter, coming in at a convenient mo- 
ment, to enable them to secure the success 
in life which they covet. 

The vision haunts them of some benevo- 
lent old gentleman with a pocket full of 
money, a trunk full of mortgages and stocks, 
and a mind remarkably appreciative of merit 
and genius, who will, perhaps, give or lend 
them anywhere from ten to twenty thousand 
dollars, with which they will commence and 
go on swimmingly. Perhaps he will take a 
different turn, and educate them. Or, per- 
haps, with an eye to the sacred profession, 
they desire to become the beneficiaries of 
some benevolent society, or some gentle cir- 
cle of female devotees. 

To me, one of the most disgusting sights 
in the world is that of a young man with 
healthy blood, broad shoulders, presentable 
calves, and a hundred and "fifty pounds, more 
or less, of good bone and muscle, standing 
with his hands in his pockets, longing for 
help. I admit that there are positions in 
which the most independent spirit may ac- 
cept of assistance — may, in fact, as a choice 
of evils, desire it ; but for a man who is able 
to help himself, to desire the help of others 
in the accomplishment of his plans of life, is 
positive proof that he has received a most 
unfortunate training, or that there is a leaven 
of meanness in his composition that should 
make him shudder. 

Do not misunderstand me : I would not 
inculcate that pride of j)ersonal independence 
which repels in its sensitiveness the well- 
meant good offices and benefactions of friends, 
or that resorts to desperate shifts rather than 
incur an obligation. What I condemn in a 
young man is the love of dependence ; the 



willingness to be under obligation for that 
which his own efforts may win. 

Let this be understood, then, at starting ; 
that the patient conquest of difficulties which 
rise in the regular and legitimate channels of 
business and enterprise, is not only essential 
in securing the success which you seek, but it 
is essential to that preparation of your mine, 
which is requisite for the enjoyment of your 
successes, and for retaining them when 
gained. It is the general rule of Providence, 
the world over, and in all time, that unearned 
success is a curse. It is the rule of Provi- 
dence, that the process of earning success 
shall be the preparation for its conservation 
and enjoyment. 

So, day by day, and week by week; so, 
month after month, and year after year, work 
on, and in that process gain strength and 
symmetry, and nerve and knowledge, that 
when success, patiently and bravely worked 
for, shall come, it may find you prepared to 
receive it and keep it. 

The development which you will get in 
this brave and patient labor, will prove itself, 
in the end, the most valuable of your suc- 
cesses. It will help to make a man of you. 
It will give you power and self-reliance. It 
will give you not only self-respect, but the 
respect of your fellows and the public. 

Never allow yourself to be seduced from 
this course. You will hear of young men 
who have made fortunes in some wild specu- 
lations. Pity them; for they will almost 
certainly lose their easily won success. Do 
not be in a hurry for anything. Are you in 
love with some dear girl, whom you would 
make your wife ? Give Angelina Matilda to 
understand that she must wait; and if An- 
gelina Matilda is really the good girl you 
take her to be, she will be sensible enough 
to tell you to choose your time 

You cannot build well without first laying 
a good foundation; and for you to enter 



SPECIMENS OF ELEGANT COMPOSITION. 



69 



upon a business which you have not patiently 
and thoroughly learned, and to marry before 
you have won a character, or even the rea- 
sonable prospect of a competence, is ulti- 
mately to bring your house down about the 
ears of Angelina Matilda, and such pretty 



children as she may give you. If, at the age 
of thirty years, you find yourself established 
in a business which pays you with certainty 
a living income, you are to remember that 
God has blessed you beyond the majority of 
men. 



DINAH THE METHODIST. 

By George Eliot. 
The works of Marian Evans Cross created unusual interest when first published in England. Her 
"Adam Bede," "The Mill on the Floss" and 'Silas Marner," immediately placed her in the highest 
rank of the writers of fiction. For some time her identity was concealed, yet there were critics who 
suspected that " George Eliot " was the assumed name of a female author. Her writings are charac- 
terized by a keen insight into character, intellectual vigor and sympathy with the advanced thought of the 
day. She was born in 1819, and died in 1880. The selection from "Adam Bede," here given, is an 
excellent specimen from one of her well-known works. 




EVERAL of the men followed Ben's 
lead, and the traveler pushed his 
horse on to the Green, as Dinah 
walked rather quickly, and in advance of her 
companions, toward the cart under the 
maple tree. While she was near Seth's tall 
figure she looked short, but when she had 
mounted the cart, and was away from all 
comparison, she seemed above the middle 
height of woman, though in reality she did 
not exceed it — an effect which was due to 
the slimness of her figure, and the simple 
line of her black stuff dress. 

The stranger was struck with surprise as 
he saw her approach and mount the cart — 
surprise, not so much for the feminine deli- 
cacy of her appearance, as at the total ab- 
sence of self-consciousness in her demeanor. 
He had made up his mind to see her ad- 
vance with a measured step, and a demure 
solemnity of countenance; he had felt sure 
that her face would be mantled with a smile 
of conscious saintship, or else charged with 
denunciatory bitterness. He knew but two 
types of Methodist — the ecstatic and the 
bilious. 

But Dinah walked as simply as if she were 
going to market, and seemed as unconscious 



of her outward appearance as a little boy: 
there was no blush, no tremulousness, which 
said, " I know you think me a pretty woman, 
too young to preach;" no casting up or 
down of the eyelids, no compression of the 
lips, no attitude of the arms, that said, "But 
you must think of me as a saint." 

She held no book in her ungloved hands, 
but let them hang down lightly crossed be- 
fore her, as she stood and turned her grey 
eyes on the people. There was no keenness 
in her eyes ; they seemed rather to be shed- 
ding love than making observations ; they 
had the liquid look which tells that the mind 
is full of what it has to give out, rather than 
impressed by external objects. 

The eyebrows, of the same color as the 
hair, were perfectly horizontal and firmly 
pencilled ; the eyelashes, though no darker, 
were long and abundant; nothing was left 
blurred or unfinished. 

It was one of those faces that make one 
think of white flowers with light touches of 
color on their pure petals. The eyes had no 
peculiar beauty, beyond that of expression ; 
they looked so simple, so candid, so gravely 
loving, that no accusing scowl, no light sneer, 
o^uld help melting away before their glance. 



70 



SPECIMENS OF ELEGANT COMPOSITION.. 



Joshua Rami gave a long cough, as if he 
were clearing his throat in order to come to 
a new understanding with himself; Chad 
Cranage lifted up his leather skull-cap and 
scratched his head; and Wiry Ben won- 



dered how Seth had the pluck to tn.xxK of 
courting her. 

" A sweet woman," the stranger said to 
himself, '* but surely Nature never meant her 
for a preacher." 



GODFREY AND DUNSTAN, 

By George Eliot. 
An excellent example of dialogue in fiction. 




'OME one opened the door at the 
other end of the room, and Nancy 
felt that it was her husband. She 
turned from the window with glad- 
ness in her eyes, for the wife's chief dread 
was stilled. 

'' Dear, Vm so thankful you're come,'' she 
said, going towards him. " I began to get " — 

She paused abruptly, for Godfrey was lay- 
ing down his hat with trembling hands, and 
turned towards her with a pale face and a 
strange, unanswering glance, as if he saw her 
indeed, but saw her as part of a scene invis- 
ible to herself. She laid her hand on his 
arm, not daring to speak again ; but he left 
the touch unnoticed, and threw himself into 
his chair. 

Jane was already at the door with the his- 
sing urn. " Tell her to keep away, will you ? " 
said Godfrey ; and when the door was closed 
again he exerted himself to speak more dis- 
tinctly. 

" Sit down, Nancy — there," he said, point- 
ing to a chair opposite him. " I came back 
as soon as I could to hinder anybody's tell- 
ing you but me. I've had a great shock — 
but I care mo.st about the shock it'll be to 
you." 

" It isn't father and Priscilla ? " said Nancy, 
with quivering lips, clasping her hands to- 
gether tightly on her lap. 

" No, it's nobody living," said Godfrey, un- 
equal to the considerate skill with which he 



would have wished to make his revelation. 
" It's Dunstan — my brother Dunstan, that we 
lost sight of sixteen years ago. We've found 
him, — found his body — his skeleton." 

The deep dread Godfrey's look had created 
in Nancy made her feel these words a relief. 
She sat in comparative calmness to hear what 
else he had to tell. He went on : 

** The stone pit has gone dry suddenly, — 
from the draining, I suppose ; and there he 
lies — has lain for sixteen years, wedged be- 
tween two great stones. There's his watch 
and seals, and there's my gold-handled hunt- 
ing whip, with my name on. He took it 
away, without my knowing, the day he went 
hunting on Wildfire, the last time he was 
seen." 

Godfrey paused ! it was not so easy to say 
what came next. ** Do you think he drowned 
himself? " said Nancy, almost wondering 
that her husband should be so deeply shaken 
by what had happened all those years ago to 
an unloved brother, of whom worse things 
had been augured. 

" No, he fell in," said Godfrey, in a low but 
distinct voice, as if he felt some deep mean- 
ing in the fact. Presently he added : " Dun- 
stan was the man that robbed Silas Marner." 

The blood rushed to Nancy's face and neck 
at this surprise and shame, for she had been 
bred up to regard even a distant kinship with 
crime as a dishonor. 

" O Godfrey ! " she said, with compassioD 



SPECIMENS OF ELEGANT COMPOSITION. 



71 



in her tone, for she had immediately reflected 
that the dishonor must be felt more keenly 
by her husband. 

" There was money in the pit/' he continued, 
" all the weaver's money. Everything's been 
gathered up, and they have taken the skeleton 
to the Rainbow. But I came back to tell you. 
There was no hindering it; you must know." 

He was silent, looking on the ground for 
two long minutes. Nancy would have said 
some words of comfort under this disgrace, 
but she refrained, from an instinctive sense 
that there was something behind, — that God- 
frey had something else to tell her. Pre- 
sently he lifted his eyes to her face, and kept 
them fixed on her, as he said : 

** Everything comes to light, Nancy, sooner 
or later. When God Almighty wills it, our 
secrets are found out. I've lived with a 
secret on my mind, but I'll keep it from you 
no longer. I wouldn't have you know it by 
somebody else, and not by me — I wouldn't 
have you find it out after I'm dead. Fll tell 
you now. It's been ^ I will ^ and ^ I won't ' 
with me all my life ; I'll make sure of myself 
now." 

Nancy's utmost dread had returned. The 
eyes of the husband and wife met with an 
awe in them, as at a crisis which suspended 
affection. 

" Nancy," said Godfrey slowly, '' when I 
married you, I hid something from you, — 
something I ought to have told you. That 
woman Marner found dead in the snow — 
Eppie's mother — that wretched woman — was 
my wife ; Eppie is my child." 

He paused, dreading the effects of his con- 
fession. But Nancy sat quite still, only that 
her eyes dropped and ceased to meet his. 
She was pale and quiet as a meditative statue, 
clasping her hands on her lap. 

" You'll never think the same of me again," 
said Godfrey after a little while, with some 
tremor in his voice. She was silent. 



*' I oughtn't to have left the child un- 
owned; I oughtn't to have kept it from you. 
But I couldn't bear to give you up, Nancy. 
I was led away into marrying her; I suffered 
for it." 

Still Nancy was silent, looking down ; ani 
he almost expected that she would presently 
get up and say she would go to her father's. 
How could she have any mercy for faults 
that seemed so black to her, with her simple, 
severe notions ? 

But at last she lifted up her eyes to his 
again and spoke. There was no indignation 
in her voice ; only deep regret, 

" Godfrey, if you had told me this six 
years ago, we could have done some of our 
duty by the child. Do you think I'd have 
refused to take her in, if I'd known she was 
yours ? " 

At that moment Godfrey felt all the bitter- 
ness of an error that was not simply futile, 
but had defeated its own end. He had not 
measured this wife with whom he had lived 
so long. But she spoke again, with more 
agitation. 

"And — oh, Godfrey — if we'd had her from 
the first, if youM taken to her as you ought, 
sheM have loved me for her mother — and 
you'd been happier with me ; I could better 
have bore my little baby dying, and our life 
might have been more like what we used to 
think it 'ud be." 

The tears fell, and Nancy ceased to speak. 

" But you wouldn't have married me then, 
Nancy, if I'd told you," said Godfrey, urged, 
in the bitterness of his self-reproach, to prove 
to himself that his conduct had not been 
utter folly. '' You may think you would 
now, but you wouldn't then. With your 
pride and your father's, you'd have hated 
having anything to do with me after the 
talk there'd been." 

"I can't say what I should have done 
about that, Godfrey. I should never have 



72 



SPECIMENS OF ELEGANT COMPOSITION. 



married anybody else. But I wasn't worth 
doing wrong for; nothing is in this world. 
Nothing is so good as it seems beforehand ; 
not even our marrying wasn't, you see." 
There was a faint, sad smile on Nancy's face 
as she said the last words. 

" I'm a worse man than you thought I was, 
Nancy," said Godfrey rather tremulously. 
" Can you forgive me ever ? " 

" The wrong to me is but little, Godfrey. 
You've made it up to me ; you've been good 
to me for fifteen years. It's another you did 
the wrong to ; and I doubt it can never be 
all made up for." 



" But we can take Eppie now," said God- 
frey. " I won't mind the world knowing at 
last. I'll be plain and open for the rest o' 
my life." 

" It'll be different coming to us, now she's 
grown up," said Nancy, shaking her head 
sadly. " But it's your duty to acknowledge 
her and provide for her ; and I'll do my part 
by her, and pray to God Almighty to make 
her love me." 

" Then we'll go together to Silas Marner's 
this very night, as soon as everything's quiet 
at the Stone Pits." 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 



By Washington Irving. 
This charming author, who is a master of pure style, beautiful sentiment and pleasing humor, has 
been called the father of American Hterature. If this be not strictly true, it is a matter of record that no 
American authors before his time achieved any remarkable success. Mr. Irving was born in 1783, and 
died in 1859. H^ ^^^^ particularly happy in portraying the quaint character and customs of the old Dutch 
settlers in our country. He published a number of volumes, including " The Sketch Book," " Tales of a 
Traveler," " Life and Voyages of Christopher Columbus,'' etc. One of Irving's best known and most 
delightful short productions is " Rip Van Winkle,'' from which the following extract is taken. The easy- 
going, inoffensive character of Rip is delightfully pictured. 

fHE great error in Rip's composition 
was an insuperable aversion to all 
kinds of profitable labor. It could 
not be from the want of assiduity or perse- 
verance ; for he would sit on a wet rock, 
with a rod as long and heavy as a Tartar's 
lance, and fish all day without a murmur, 
even though he should not be encouraged 
by a single nibble. 

He would carry a fowling-piece on his 
shoulder for hours together, trudging through 
woods and swamps, and up hill and down 
dale, to shoot a few squirrels or wild pigeons. 
He would never refuse to assist a neighbor 
even in the roughest toil, and was a foremost 
man at all country frolics for husking Indian 
corn, or building stone fences. 

The women of the village, too, used to 
employ him to run their errands^ and to do 



such little odd jobs as their less obliging hus- 
bands would not do for them ; — in a word. 
Rip was ready to attend to anybody's busi- 
ness but his own ; but as to doing family 
duty and keeping his farm in order, he found 
it impossible. 

In fact, he declared it was of no use to 
work on his farm ; it was the most pestilent 
little piece of ground in the whole country ; 
everything about it went wrong, a.id would 
go wrong in spite of him. His fences were 
continually falling to pieces ; his cow would 
either go astray, or get among the cabbages ; 
weeds were sure to grow quicker in his fields 
than anywhere else ; the rain always made a 
point of setting in just as he had some out- 
door work to do ; so that, though his patri- 
monial estate had dwindled away under his 
management^ acre by acre^ until there was 



SPECIMENS OF ELEGANT COMPOSITION. 



73 



little more left than a mere patch of Indian 
corn, and potatoes, yet it was the worst con- 
ditioned farm in the neighborhood. 

His children, too, were as ragged and 
wild as if they belonged to nobody. His 
son Rip, an urchin begotten in his own like- 
ness, promised to inherit the habits, with the 
jold clothes, of his father. He was generally 
seen trooping like a colt at his mother's heels, 
equipped in a pair of his father's cast-off 
trousers, which he had much ado to hold up 
with one hand, as a fine lady does her train 
in bad weather. 

Rip Van Winkle, nowever, was one of 
those happy mortals, of foolish, well-oiled 
dispositions, who take the world easy, eat 
white bread or brown, whichever can be got 
with least thought or trouble, and would 
rather starve on a penny than work for a 
pound. If left to himself, he would have 
whistled life away in perfect contentment; 
but his wife kept continually dinning in his 
ears about his idleness, his carelessness, and 
the ruin he was bringing on his family. 

Morning, noon and night her tongue was 
incessantly going, and everything he said or 
did was sure to produce a torrent of house- 



hold eloquence. Rip had but one way of 
replying to all lectures of the kind, and that 
by frequent use had grown into a habit. He 
shrugged his shoulders, shook his head, cast 
up his eyes, but said nothing. This, how- 
ever, always provoked a fresh volley from 
his wife, so that he was fain to draw off his 
forces and take to the outside of the house — 
the only side which, in truth, belongs to a 
henpecked husband. 

Poor Rip was at last reduced almost to 
despair, and his only alternative to escape 
from the labor of the farm, and the clamor 
of his wife, was to take gun in hand and 
stroll away into the woods. Here he would 
sometimes seat himself at the foot of a tree, 
and share the contents of his wallet with his 
dog Wolf, with whom he sympathized as a 
fellow-sufferer in persecution. 

*' Poor Wolf," he would say, "thy mistress 
leads thee a dog's life of it ; but never mind, 
my lad, whilst I live thou shalt never want 
a friend to stand by thee." Wolf would wag 
his tail, look wistfully in his master's face, 
and if dogs can feel pity, I verily believe 
he reciprocated the sentiment with all his 
heart. 



THE PURITANS OF THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY. 

By Lord Macaulay. 

Distinguished as a descriptive poet by his fine " Lays of Ancient Rome,'' and yet more distinguished as 
a master of Enghsh prose by his "Essays" and his noble ''History of England/' Thomas Babington 
Macaulay stands prominent as the most learned and eloquent of the essayists and critics of the nineteenth 
century. He was the son of Zachary Macaulay, known as the warm friend and co-laborer of Wilberforce 
and Clarkson, and was born at Rothley Temple, Leicestershire, October 25, 1800, and died in 1859. ^^ 
1818 he entered Trinity College, Cambridge, where he took his degree in 1822. Here he gave proof of his 
great intellectual powers, obtaining a scholarship, and twice gaining the Chancellor's medal for a poem 
called "Pompeii." To crown his triumphs, he secured a " Craven Scholarship," — the highest distinction 
in classics which the university confers. 

Lord Macaulay's glowing description of the Puritans has been pronounced the finest writing of its kind 
to be found in our language. It is the product of pre-eminent literary ability, and the highest genius. 




E would first speak of the Puritans 
of the sixteenth century, the most 
remarkable body of men, perhaps, 
>yhic]i the world has evei produged. 



Those who roused the people to resist- 
ance — who directed their measures through 
a long series of eventful years — who formed, 
put of the most unpromising materials, the 



74 



SPFXIMENS OF ELEGANT COMPOSITION. 



finest army that Europe had ever seen — who 
trampled down king, church, and aristocracy 
— who, in the short intervals of domestic 
sedition and rebellion, made the name of 
England terrible to every nation on the face 
of the earth — were no vulgar fanatics. 

Most of their absurdities were mere exter- 
nal badges, like the signs of freemasonry or 
the dresses of friars. We regret that these 
badges were not more attractive ; we regret 
that a body, to whose courage and talents 
mankind has owed inestimable obligations, 
had not the lofty elegance which distin- 
guished some of the adherents of Charles L, 
or the easy good breeding for which the 
court of Charles II. was celebrated. But, if 
we must make our choice, we shall, like 
Bassanio in the play, turn from the specious 
caskets which contain only the Death's head 
and the Fool's head, and fix our choice on 
the plain leaden chest which conceals the 
treasure. 

The Puritans were men whose minds had 
derived a peculiar character from the daily 
contemplation of superior beings and eternal 
interests. Not content with acknowledging, 
in general terms, an overruling Providence, 
they habitually ascribed every event to the 
will of the Great Being, for whose power 
nothing was too minute. To know him, to 
serve him, to enjoy him, was with them the 
great end of existence. 

They rejected with contempt the cere- 
monious homage which other sects substi- 
tuted for the pure worship of the soul. In- 
stead of catching occasional glimpses of the 
Deity through an obscuring vail, they aspired 
to gaze full on the intolerable brightness, and 
to commune with him face to face. Hence 
originated their contempt for terrestrial dis- 
tinctions. 

The difference between the greatest and 
meanest of mankind seemed to vanish 
when compared with the boundless inter- 



val which separated the whole race from 
Him on whom their own eyes were con- 
stantly fixed. 

They recognized no title to superiority but 
his favor ; and, confident of that favor, they 
despised all the accomplishments and all the 
dignities of the world. If they were unac- 
quainted with the works of philosophers and 
poets, they were deeply read in the ora- 
cles of God ; if their names were not found 
in the registers of heralds, they felt assured 
that they were recorded in the Book of Life ; 
if their steps were not accompanied by a 
splendid train of menials, legions of minister- 
ing angels had charge over them. Their 
palaces were houses not made with hands ; 
their diadems, crowns of glory which should 
never fade away. 

On the rich and the eloquent, on nobles ' 
and priests, they looked down with con- 
tempt ; for they esteemed themselves rich in 
a more precious treasure, and eloquent in a 
more sublime language — nobles by the right 
of an earlier creation, and priests by the im- 
position of a mightier hand. The very mean- 
est of them was a being to whose fate a mys- 
terious and terrible importance belonged — on 
whose slightest actions the .spirits of light and 
darkness looked with anxious interest— who 
had been destined, before heaven and earth 
were created, to enjoy a felicity which should 
continue when heaven and earth should have 
passed away. 

Events which short-sighted politicians 
ascribed to earthly causes had been ordained 
on his account. For his sake empires had 
risen and flourished and decayed; for his 
sake the Almighty had proclaimed his will 
by the pen of the evangelist and the harp of 
the prophet. He had been rescued by no 
common deliverer from the grasp of no com- 
mon foe ; he had been ransomed by the 
sweat of no vulgar agony, by the blood of no 
earthly sacrifice. It was for him that the sun 



SPECIMENS OF ELEGANT COMPOSITION. 



75 



had been darkened, that the rocks had beenh ad shuddered at the sufferings of her expir- 
rent, that the dead had arisen, that all nature ing God ! 



ON BEING IN TIME. 

By C. H. Spurgeon. 
When we examine Mr. Spurgeon's writings we are able to discover one great secret of his power. As no 
preacher of modern times was more successful, in like manner no other had such a vigorous command of 
plain English in the pulpit. The great majority of his words are short and simple, reminding one of the 
terse writings of the old Puritan authors. Mr. Spurgeon was born in 1834 and died in 1893. No other 
writer has published so many sermons and volumes of miscellaneous writings, and no other author of similar 
works has been so widely read. He was the marvel of his generation. 




E who begins a little late in the morn- 
ing will have to drive fast, will be 
constantly in a fever, and will 
scarcely overtake his business at 
night ; whereas he who rises in proper time 
can enjoy the luxury of pursuing his calling 
with regularity, ending his work in fit season, 
and gaining a little portion of leisure. 

Late in the morning may mean puffing and 
blowing all the day long, whereas an early 
hour will make the pace an easy one. This 
is worth a man's considering. Much evil 
comes of hurry, and hurry is the child of un- 
punctuality. 

We once knew a brother whom we named 

*' the late Mr. S ," because he never 

came in time. A certain tart gentleman, 
who had been irritated by this brother's un- 
punctuality, said that the sooner that name 
was literally true the better for the temper 
of those who had to wait for him. Many a 
man would much rather be fined than be 
kept waiting. If a man must injure me, let 
him rather plunder me of my cash than of 
my time. 

To keep a busy man waiting is an act of 
impudent robbery, and is also a constructive 
insult. It may not be so intended, but cer- 
tainly if a man has proper respect for his 
friend, he will know the value of his time, 
and will not cause him to waste it. There 
s a cool contempt in unpunctuality, for it as 



good as says : " Let the fellow wait ; who 
is he that I should keep my appointment 
with him?" 

In this world, matters are so linked together 
that you cannot disarrange one without 
throwing others out of gear ; if one business 
is put out of time, another is delayed by the 
same means. The other day we were travel- 
ing to the Riviera, and the train after leav- 
ing Paris was detained for an hour and a 
half This was bad enough, but the result 
was worse^ for. when we reached Marseilles 
the connecting train had gone, and we were 
not only detained for a considerable time, 
but were forced to proceed by a slow train, 
and so reached our destination six hours 
later than we ought to have done. All the 
subsequent delay was caused through the 
first stoppage. 

A merchant once said to us: ''A. B. is a 
good fellow in many respects, but he is so 
frightfully slow that we cannot retain him in 
our office, because, as all the clerks work 
into each other's hands, his delays are mul- 
tiplied enormously, and cause intolerable in- 
convenience. He is a hindrance to the 
whole system, and he had better go where 
he can work alone." 

The worst of it is that we cannot send un- 
punctual people where they can work alone. 
To whom or whither should they go ? We 
cannot rig out a hermitage for each one, or 



76 



SPECIMENS OF ELEGANT COMPOSITION, 



that would be a great deliverance. If they 
prepared their own dinners, it would not 
matter that they dropped in after every dish 
had become cold. If they preached ser- 
mons to themselves, and had no other audi- 
ence, it would not signify that they began 
consistently seven minutes behind the pub- 
lished hour. If they were their own scholars, 
and taught themselves, it would be of no 
consequence if the pupil sat waiting for his 
teacher for twenty minutes. 

As it is, we in this world cannot get away 
from the unpunctual, nor get them away 
from us, and therefore we are obliged to put 
up with them ; but we should like them to 
know that they are a gross nuisance, and a 
frequent cause of sin, through irritating the 
tempers of those who cannot afford to 
squander time as they do. 

If this should meet the eye of any gen- 
tleman who has almost forgotten the mean- 



ing of the word *' punctuality," we earnestly 
advise him to try and be henceforth five 
minutes too soon for every appointment, and 
then perhaps he will gradually subside into the 
little great virtue which we here recommend. 
Could not some good genius get up a 
Punctuality Association, every member to 
wear a chronometer set to correct time, and 
to keep appointments by the minute-hand? 
Pledges should be issued, to be signed by 
all sluggish persons who can summon up 
sufficient resolution totally to abstain from 
being behind time in church or chapel, or on 
committee, or at dinner, or in coming home 
from the office in the evening. Ladies eligi- 
ble as members upon signing a special 
pledge to keep nobody waiting while they 
run upstairs to pop on their bonnets. How 
much of sinful temper would be spared, and 
how much of time saved, we cannot venture 
to guess. Try it. 



JOHN PLOUGHMAN'S TALK ON HOME. 

By C. H. Spurgeon. 
The famous London minister wrote a book entitled, "John Ploughman's Talk." His object was to 
express plain and homely truths in a quaint, humorous way, and thus gain the attention of common p-eople 
whose reading is confined mostly to murder and divorce cases in newspapers. The enjoyment of the 
public in reading Mr. Spurgeon's pithy sayings was evinced by the enormous sale of the book. The 
extract here given is a fair specimen of its unique style. 




HAT word home always sounds like 
poetry to me. It rings like a peal of 
bells at a wedding, only more soft and 
sweet, and it chimes deeper into the ears of 
my heart. It does not matter whether it 
means thatched cottage or manor-house, 
fiome is home, be it ever so homely, and 
there's no place on earth like it. Green grow 
the houseleek on the roof forever, and let the 
moss flourish on the thatch. 

Sweetly the sparrows chirrup and the 
swallows twitter around the chosen spot 
which is my joy and my rest. Every bird 
loves its own nest ; the owl thinks the old 



ruins the fairest soot under the moon, and 
the fox is of opinion that his hole in the hill 
is remarkably cozy. When my master's nag 
knows that his head is towards home he 
wants no whip, but thinks it best to put on 
all steam ; and I am always of the same mind, 
for the way home, to me, is the best bit ol 
road in the country. I like to see the smoke 
out of my own chimney better than the fire 
on another man's hearth ; there's something 
so beautiful in the way in which it curls up 
among the trees. 

Cold potatoes on my own table taste better 
than roast meat at my neighbor's, and the 



SPECIMENS OF ELEGANT COMPOSITION. 



77 



honeysuckle at my own door is the sweetest 
i ever smell. When you are out, friends do 
^heir best, but still it is not home. " Make 
yourself at home," they say, because every- 
body knows that to feel at home is to feel at 

ease. 

" East and west, 
Home is best." 

Why, at home you are at home, anc^ what 
more do you want? Nobody grudges you, 
whatever your appetite may be ; and you 
don't get put into a damp bed. Safe in his 
own castle, like a king in his palace, a man 
feels himself somebody, and is not afraid of 
being thought proud for thinking so. Every 
cock may crow on his own dunghill ; and a 
log is a lion when he is at home. No need 
to guard every word because some enemy is 
on the watch, no keeping the heart under 
lock and key; but as soon as the door is 
shut it is liberty hall, and none to peep and 
pry. 

It is a singular fact, and perhaps some of 
you will doubt it — but that is your unbeliev- 
ing nature — our little ones are real beauties, 
always a pound or two plumper than others 
of their age; and yet it don't tire you half so 
much to nurse them as it does other people's 
babies. Why, bless you, my wife would be 
tired out in half the time, if her neighbor had 
asked her to see to a strange youngster, but 
her own children don't seem to tire her at 
all. Now my belief is that it all comes of 
their having been born at home. 

Just so it is with everything else : our lane 
is the most beautiful for twenty miles round, 
because our home is in it; and my garden is 
a perfect paradise, for no other particular 
reason than this very good one, that it be- 
longs to the old house at home. 

Husbands should try to make home happy 
and holy. It is an ill bird that fouls its own 
nest,abadmanwho makes his home wretched. 
Our house ought to be a little church, with 



holiness to the Lord over the door; but it 
ought never to be a prison, where there is 
plenty of rule and order, but little love and 
no pleasure. 

Married life is not all sugar, but grace in 
the heart will keep away most of the sours. 
Godliness and love can make a man, like c\ 
bird in a hedge, sing among thorns and 
briars, and set others a-singing too. It should 
b^ the husband's pleasure to please his wife, 
and the wife's care to care for he^ husband. 
He is kind to himsell who is kind to his 
wife. I am afraid some men live by the rule 
of self, and when that is the case home hap- 
piness is a mere sham. When husbands and 
wives are well yoked, how light their load 
becomes ! 

It is not every couple that is a pair, and 
the more 's the pity. In a true home all the 
strife is which can do the most to make the 
family happy. A home should be a Bethel, 
not a Babel. The husband should be the 
house-band, binding all together like a cor- 
ner-stone, but not crushing everything like a 
millstone. 

Nothing is improved by anger, unless it be 
the arch of a cat's back. A man with his 
back up is spoiling his figure. People look 
none the handsomer for being red in the face. 
It takes a great deal out of a man to get into 
a towering rage ; it is almost as unhealthy as 
having a fit, and time has been when men 
have actually choked themselves with pas- 
sion, and died on the spot. Whatever wrong 
I suffer, it cannot do me half so much hurt 
as being angry about it ; for passion shortens 
life and poisons peace. 

When once we give way to temper, tem- 
per will get right of way, and come in easier 
every time. He that will be in a pet for any 
little thing, will soon be out at elbows about 
nothing at all. A thunder-storm curdles the 
milk, and so does a passion sour the heart 
and spoil the character. 



78 



SPECIMENS OF ELEGANT COMPOSITION. 



LITTLE PEARL AND HER MOTHER. 

By Nathaniel Hawthorne. 

Hawthorne is justly regarded as one of the masters of Enghsh prose, although the shadowed side o) 
his life predominated and often gave a somewhat gloomy tinge to his writings. Yet through the morbid 
drapery by which he surrounds himself the light of his superb genius shines brilliantly. His style is a mode). 
of clearness, choice words and elevated sentiment. The extract given below is from " The Scarlet Letter/ 
sone of his best works of fiction, and, in fact, one of the best that enriches our American literature. He 
/possessed great originality, a rare power of analyzing character, a delicate and exquisite humor and marvel- 
ous felicity in the use of language. Mr. Hawthorne was born at Salem, Massachusetts, in 1804, and died 
in 1864, 




O the mother and little Pearl were 
admitted into the hall of entrance. 
With many variations, suggested 
by the nature of his building-mate- 
rials, diversity of climate, and a different 
mode of social life, Governor Bellingham had 
planned his new habitation after the resi- 
dences of gentlemen of fair estate in his 
native land. 

Here, then, was a wide and reasonably 
lofty hall, extending through the whole depth 
of the house, and forming a medium of gen- 
eral communication, more or less directly> 
with all the other apartments. At one ex- 
tremity, this spacious room was lighted by 
the windows of the two towers, which formed 
a small recess on either side of the portal. 
At the other end, though partly muffled by 
a curtain, it was mere powerfully illuminated 
by one of those embowed hall-windows which 
we read of in old books, and which was pro- 
vided with a deep and cushioned seat. 

Here, on the cushion, lay a folio tome, 
probably of the Chronicles of England, or 
other such substantial literature; even as, in 
our own days, we scatter gilded volumes on 
the centre-table, to be turned over by the 
casual guest. The furniture of the hall con- 
sisted of some ponderous chairs, the backs of 
which were elaborately carved with wreaths 
of oaken flowers; and likewise a table in the 
same taste; the whole being of Elizabethan 
age, or perhaps earlier, and heirlooms, trans- 



ferred hither from the governor's paternal 
home. 

On the table — in token that the sentiment 
of old English hospitality had not been left 
behind — stood a large pewter tankard, at the 
bottom of which, had Hester or Pearl peeped 
into it, they might have seen the frothy rem- 
nant of a recent draught of ale. 

On the wall hung a row of portraits, rep- 
resenting the forefathers of the Bellingham 
lineage, some with armor on their breasts, 
and others with stately ruffs and robes of 
peace. All were characterized by the stern- 
ness and severity which old portraits so in- 
variably put on ; as if they were the ghosts, 
rather than the pictures, of departed worthies, 
and were gazing with harsh and intolerant 
criticism at the pursuits and enjoyments of 
living men. 

At about the center of the oaken panels 
that lined the hall was suspended a suit of 
mail, not, like the pictures, an ancestral relic, 
but of the most modern date; for it had been 
manufactured by a skillful armorer in Lon- 
don the same year in which Governor Bel- 
lingham came over to New England, There 
was a steel headpiece, a cuirass, a gorget and 
greaves, with a pair of gauntlets and a sword 
hanging beneath; all, and especially the 
helmet and breastplate, so highly burnished 
as to glow with white radiance and scatter an 
illumination everywhere about upon the floor. 

This bright panoply was not meant for 



SPECIMENS OF ELEGANT COMPOSITION. 



79 



mere idle show, but had been worn by the 
governor on many a solemn muster and 
training field, and had glittered, moreover, 
at the head of a regiment in the Pequod war. 
For, though bred a lawyer, and accustomed 
to speak of Bacon, Coke, Noye and Finch 
as his professional associates, the exigencies 
of this new country had transformed Gov- 
ernor Bellingham into a soldier, as well as a 
statesman and ruler. 

Little Pearl — who was as greatly pleased 
with the gleaming armor as she had been 
with the glittering frontispiece of the house 
— spent some time looking into the polished 
mirror of the breastplate. 

" Mother,'^ cried she, " I see you here. 
Look ! Look !" 

Hester looked, by way of humoring the 



child ; and she saw that, owing to the pecu- 
liar effect of this convex mirror, the scarlet 
letter was represented in exaggerated and 
gigantic proportions, so as to be greatly the 
most prominent feature of her appearance. 
In truth, she seemed absolutely hidden be- 
hind it. 

Pearl pointed upward, also, at a similar 
picture in the headpiece, smiling at her mo- 
ther with the elfish intelligence that was so 
familiar an expression on her small physiog- 
nomy. That look of naughty merriment 
was likewise reflected in the mirror, with so 
much breadth and intensity of effect, that it 
made Hester Prynne feel as if it could not 
be the image of her own child, but of an imp 
who was seeking to mold itself into Pearl's 
shape. 



THE BABY IN THE BATH-TUB. 

By Grace Greenwood. 

The foHowing selection is an exceUent example of sprightly and vivacious writing, a kind of com- 
position that is always entertaining to the reader. Under the assumed name of Grace Greenwood, Mrs. 
Sarah J. Lippincott was for many years a well-known and popular contributor to various periodicals. 
She also published several volumes, including works of fiction and stories of travel. She wrote poems 
that possessed much merit, thus exhibiting a wide range of talent. Her fine thoughts were expressed 
in a style of great ease, simplicity and beauty. Mrs. Lippincott was born in Onondaga County, New 
York, in 1825, and died in 1898. 



tNNIE! 
and s 
^^ ^ cri( 



Sophie ! come up quick, 
see baby in her bath-tub ! '^ 
cries a charming little maiden, 
running down the wide stairway of an old 
country house, and half-way up the long hall, 
all in a fluttering cloud of pink lawn, her 
5oft dimpled cheeks tinged with the same 
lovely morning hue. 

In an instant there is a stir and gush of 
light laughter in the drawing-room, and 
presently, with a movement a little more 
majestic and elder-sisterly, Annie and Sophie 
float noiselessly through the hall and up the 
soft-carpeted ascent, as though borne on their 
respective clouds of blue and white drapery. 



and take their way to the nursery, where a 
novel entertainment awaits them. It is the 
first morning of the eldest married sister's 
first visit home, with her first baby ; and the 
first baby, having slept late after its journey, 
is about to take its first bath in the old 
house. 

" Well, I declare, if here isn't mother, for- 
getting her dairy, and Cousin Nellie, too, 
who must have left poor Ned all to himself 
in the garden, lonely and disconsolate, and I 
am torn from my books, and Sophie from 
her flowers, and all for the sake of seeing a 
nine-months-old baby kicking about in a 
bath-tub ! What simpletons we are ! " 



80 



SPECIMENS OF ELEGANT COMPOSITION. 



Thus Miss Annie, the proiide ladye of the 
family; handsome, haughty, with perilous 
procHvities toward grand socialistic theories, 
transcendentalism, and general strong-mind- 
edness ; pledged by many a saucy vow to a 
life of single dignity and freedom, given to 
studies artistic, aesthetic, philosophic, and 
ethical; a student of Plato, an absorber of 
Emerson, an exalter of her sex, a contemner 
of its natural enemies. 

" Simpletons, are we ? " cries pretty Elinor 
Lee, aunt of the baby on the other side, and 
" Cousin Nellie " by love's courtesy, now 
kneeling close by the bath-tub, and receiv- 
ing on her sunny braids a liberal baptism 
from the pure, plashing hands of babyhood, 
— " simpletons, indeed ! Did I not once see 
thee, O Pallas-Athene, standing rapt before 
a copy of the * Crouching Venus ? ' 



" And this is a sight a thousand times 
more beautiful ; for here we have color, 
action, life, and such grace as the divinest 
sculptors of Greece were never able to en- 
trance in marble. Just look at these white, 
dimpled shoulders, every dimple holding a 
tiny, sparkling drop, — these rosy, plashing 
feet and hands, — this laughing, roguish face, 
— these eyes, bright and blue and deep as 
lakes of fairy- land, — these ears, like dainty sea 
shells, — these locks of gold, dripping dia- 
monds, — and tell me what cherub of Titian, 
what Cupid of Greuze, was ever half so 
lovely ? I say, too, that Raphael himself 
would have jumped at the chance of painting 
Louise, as she sits there, towel in hand, in 
all the serene pride and chastened dignity of 
young maternity — of painting her as Ma- 
donna'' 



CANDACE'S OPINIONS. 



By Harriet Beecher Stowe. 

Mrs. Stowe is particularly happy in portraying negro character. It requires for this a great appre- 
ciation of humor, and her writings abound in this, while her imagination and fine command of language 
make many of her writings brilliant and even poetical. 

Mrs. Stowe is the most celebrated American authoress. Her " Uncle Tom's Cabin " has been 
more widely read than any other work of fiction ever published. While in this work her conspicuous 
genius appears to fine advantage, she has nevertheless written other works, some of them describing 
New England life and character, which are masterpieces. She was born at Litchfield, Conn., on the 
14th of June, 18 1 2, and died at Hartford July ist, 1896. 



Ji b 



INTEND," said Mr. Marvyn, "to 
make the same offer to your hus- 
band, when he returns from work 
to-night." 

" Laus, Mass'r — why, Cato, he'll do jes' 
as I do — dere a'n't no kind o' need o' askin' 
him. Course he will." 

A smile passed round the circle, because 
between Candace and her husband there 
existed one of those whimsical contrasts 
which one sometimes sees in married life. 
Cato was a small-built, thin, softly-spoken 
negro, addicted to a gentle chronic cough ; 
and, though a faithful and skillful servant, 



seemed, in relation to his better half, much 
like a hill of potatoes under a spreading 
apple-tree. Candace held to him with a 
vehement and patronizing fondness, so devoid 
of conjugal reverence as to excite the com- 
ments of her friends. 

" You must remember, Candace," said a 
good deacon to her one day, when she was 
ordering him about at a catechizing, "you 
ought to give honor to your husband ; the 
wife is the weaker vessel." 

" / de weaker vessel ? '' said Candace, 
looking down from the tower of her ample 
corpulence on the small, quiet man whom 



SPECIMENS OF ELEGANT COMPOSITION. 



81 



she had been fledging with the ample folds 
of a worsted comforter, out of which his lit- 
tle head and shining bead-eyes looked, much 
like a blackbird in a nest — " / de weaker 
vassel ! Umph ! " 

A whole woman's rights convention could 
not have expressed more in a day than was 
given in that single look and word. Can- 
dace considered a husband as a thing to be 
taken care of — a rather inconsequent and 
somewhat troublesome species of pet, to be 
humored, nursed, fed, clothed, and guided 
in the way that he was to go — an animal 
that was always losing off buttons, catching 
colds, wearing his best coat every day, and 
getting on his Sunday hat in a surreptitious 
manner for week-day occasions ; but she 
often condescended to express it as her 
opinion that he was a blessing, and that she 
didn't know what she'd do if it wasn't for 
Cato. 

She sometimes was heard expressing her- 



self very energetically in disapprobation of 
the conduct of one of her sable friends, named 
Jinny Stiles, who, after being presented with 
Iw own freedom, worked several years to 
buy that of her husband, but became after- 
wards so disgusted with her acquisition, that 
she declared she would *^ neber buy anoder 
nigger." 

" Now, Jinny don't know what she's talkin' 
about," she would say. " S'pose he does 
cough and keep her awake nights, and take 
a little too much sometimes, a'n't he better'n 
no husband at all ? A body wouldn't seem 
to hab nuffin to lib for, ef dey hadn't an old 
man to look arter. Men is nate'lly foolish 
about some tings — but dey's good deal bet- 
ter'n nuffin." 

And Candace, after this condescending re- 
mark, would lift with one hand a brass ket- 
tle in which poor Cato might have been 
drowned, and fly across the kitchen with it 
as if it were a feather. 



MIDSUMMER IN THE VALLEY OF THE RHINE. 

By George Meredith. 
An example of beautiful description. 



<^>*|^N oppressive slumber hung about the 
fcjbl forest-branches. In the dells and 
yJLV^ on the heights was the same 
dead heat. Here where the 
brook tinkled it was no cool-lipped sound, 
but metallic, and without the spirit of 
water. Yonder in a space of moonlight 
on lush grass, the beams were as white 
fire to sight and feeling. No haze spread 
around. The valleys were clear, defined to 
the shadows of their verges ; the distances 
sharply distinct, and with the colors of day 
but slightly softened. . 

Richard beheld a roe moving across a 
slope of sward far out of rifle-mark. The 
breathless silence was significant, yet the 



moon shone in a broad blue heaven. Tongue 
out of mouth trotted the little dog after him ; 
couched panting when he stopped an instant ; 
rose weariedly when he started afresh. Now 
and then a large white night-moth flitted 
through the dusk of the forest. 

On a barren corner of the wooded highland 
looking inland stood gray topless ruins 
set in nettles and rank grass-blades. Richard 
mechanically sat down on the crumbling 
flints to rest, and listened to the panting of 
the dog. Sprinkled at his feet were emerald 
lights : hundreds of glow-worms studded the 
dark dry ground. 

He sat and eyed them, thinlcing not at all. 
His energies were expended in action. He 



82 



SPECIMENS OF ELEGANT COMPOSITION. 



sat as a part of the ruins, and the moon 
turned his shadow westward from the south. 
Overhead, as she declined, long ripples of 
silver cloud were imperceptibly stealing to- 
ward her. They were the van of a tempest. 
He did not observe them, or the leaves be- 
ginning to chatter. When he again pursued 
his course with his face to the Rhine, a huge 
mountain appeared to rise sheer over him, 
and he had it in his mind to scale it. He 
got no nearer to the base of it for all his 
vigorous outstepping. The ground began 
to dip; he lost sight of the sky. Then 



heavy thunder-drops struck his cheek, the 
leaves were singing, the earth breathed, it 
was black before him and behind. All at 
once the thunder spoke. The mountain he 
had marked was bursting over him. 

Up started the whole forest in violent fire. 
He saw the country at the foot of the hills to 
the bounding Rhine gleam, quiver, extin- 
guished. Then there were pauses ; and the 
lightning seemed as the eye of heaven, and 
the thunder as the tongue of heaven, each 
alternately addressing him ; filling him with 
awful rapture. 



THE POWER OF NATURAL BEAUTY. 

By Ralph Waldo Emerson. 

"The Sage of Concord,'' as Mr. Emerson was called, expresses the estimate the American public 
placed upon his writings. His profound thought and originality are unquestioned. To these grand 
qualities he added a poetic imagination which diffused a fine glow over all his productions. 

Mr. Emerson was born in Boston in 1803, graduated from Harvard College in 1821, and entered 
the ministry of the Unitarian Church, from which, however, he shortly resigned, and soon devoted 
himself to Hterary pursuits. His works have a high reputation among scholars and speculative thinkers. 
His style is singularly terse and at times almost abrupt, but his thoughts are masterly and striking. 
He died in 1882. 




EAUTY is the mark God sets upon 

virtue. Every natural action is 

graceful. Every heroic act is 

also decent, and causes the place 

and the bystanders to shine. We are taught 

by great actions that the universe is the 

property of every individual in it. 

Every rational creature has all nature for 
his dowry and estate. It is his if he will. 
He may divest himself of it ; he may creep 
into a corner, and abdicate his kingdom, 
as most men do ; but he is entitled to the 
world by his constitution. In proportion 
to the energy of his thought and will, he 
takes up the world into himself " All those 
things for which men plough, build, or sail, 
obey virtue ; '' said an ancient historian. 
"The winds and waves," said Gibbon, "are 
always on the side of the ablest navigators." 



So are the sun and moon and all the stars of 
heaven. 

When a noble act is done — perchance in a 
scene of great natural beauty; when Leon- 
ides and his three hundred martyrs consume 
one day in dying, and the sun and moon 
come each and look at them once in the 
steep defile of Thermopylae; when Arnold 
Winkelreid, in the high Alps, under the 
shadow of the avalanche, gathers in his side 
a sheaf of Austrian spears to break the line 
for his comrades ; are not these heroes en- 
titled to add the beauty of the scene to the 
beauty of the deed? When the bark ol 
Columbus nears the shore of America; — 
before it the beach lined with savages, fleeing 
out of all their huts of cane ; the sea behind ; 
and the purple mountains of the Indian 
Archipelago around, can we separate the 



SPECIMENS OF ELEGANT COMPOSITION. 



83 



I 



man from the living picture ? Does not the 
New World clothe his form with her palm 
groves and savannahs as fit drapery ? 

Ever does natural beauty steal in like air, 
and envelop great actions. When Sir Harry 
Vane was dragged up the Tower-hill sitting 
on a sled, to suffer death, as the champion of 
the English laws, one of the multitude cried 
7>at to him, " You never sate on so glorious 
A seat." Charles II., to intimidate the citi- 
zens of London, caused the patriot Lord 
Russel to be drawn in an open coach through 
the principal streets of the city, on his way to 
the scaffold. " But," to use the simple nar- 
rative of his biographer, " the multitude im- 
agined they saw liberty and virtue sitting 
by his side." 

In private places, among sordid objects, an 
act of truth or heroism seems at once to draw 
to itself the sky as its temple, the sun as its 
candle. Nature stretcheth out her arms to 
embrace man, only let his thoughts be of 
equal greatness. Willingly does she follow 
his steps with the rose and the violet, and 
bend her lines of grandeur and grace to the 
decoration of her darling child. Only let 
his thoughts be of equal scope, and the frame 
will suit the picture. A virtuous man is in 
unison with her works, and makes the cen- 
tral figure of the visible sphere. 

The noonday darkness of the American 
forest, the deep, echoing, aboriginal woods, 



where the living columns of the oak and fir 
tower up from the ruins of the trees of the 
last millennium ; where, from year to year, 
the eagle and the crow see no intruder ; the 
pines, bearded with savage moss, yet touched 
with grace by the violets at their feet ; the 
broad, cold lowland, which forms its coat of 
vapor with the stillness of subterranean crys- 
tallization ; and where the traveler, amid the 
repulsive plants that are native in the swamp, 
thinks with pleasing terror of the distant 
town ; this beauty — haggard and desert 
beauty, which the sun and the moon, the 
snow and the rain repaint and vary, has never 
been recorded by art, yet is not indifferent to 
any passenger. 

All men are poets at heart. They serve 
nature for bread, but her loveliness over- 
comes them sometimes. What mean these 
journeys to Niagara; these pilgrims to the 
White Hills ? Men believe in the adapta- 
tions of utility always. In the mountains they 
may believe in the adaptations of the eye. 

Undoubtedly the changes of geology have 
a relation to the prosperous sprouting of the 
corn and peas in my kitchen garden; but 
not less is there a relation of beauty between 
my soul and the dim crags of Agiocochook 
up there in the clouds. Every man, when 
this is told, hearkens with joy, and yet his 
own conversation witii! nature is still un- 
sung. 



Subjects for Compositions. 

@ I O aid you in writing compositions a lengthy list of subjects is here furnished. These, 
^ I you will see, are adapted to persons of various ages and capacities. Many of them 
are comparatively simple and require no profound thought, while others are deep 
enough to tax all your powers ot reason. 

Do not choose a subject that is too abstruse and difficult. Plain narration and 
description should go before profound argument. Yet do not be satisfied with a simple 
theme if 3^ou are capable of writing upon one that demands more study and thought. 
When you have chosen your subject, you should be guided by the practical hints and 
directions contained in the first pages of this volume, which you should faithfully study. 

Many of the subjects here presented will require a good deal of reading and research 
before you can write upon them intelligently. This is true especially of the historical and 
biographical subjects. If you find history to be a fascinating study, as it is to most persons, 
you will become so filled and enamored with your theme, that you can write upon it easily. 

Never consider it too much trouble to prepare yourself thoroughly to write your 
compositions. If you would have nuggets of gold you must dig for them. Success i.^; 
worth all it costs, however much that may be. Remember Bulwer Lytton's sayings 
' The pen is mightier than the sword." 



HISTORICAL SUBJECTS. 

The Landing of the Pilgrims. 
Captain John Smith and Pocahontas 
The French and Indian War. 
The Siege of Quebec. 
King Philip's War. 
Washington at Valley Forge. 
The Surrender of Lord Cornwallis. 
The Discovery of the Mississippi River. 
Sir Walter Raleigh in Virginia. 
The Pequod War. 

Witchcraft at Salem, Massachusetts. 
The Old Charter Oak at Hartford. 
Destruction of Tea in Boston Harbor. 
The Battles of Lexington and Concord. 
The Famous Ride of Paul Revere. 
The Siege of Boston 
The Battle of Long Island. 
The Battle of the Brandywine. 
The Murder of Miss McCrea. 
The Battle of Mon month. 
The Surrender of Burgoync's Army. 
84 



The Siege of Savannah. 
Washington Crossing the Delaware. 
The Massacre of Wyoming. 
The Treason of Benedict Arnold. 
The Execution of Major x\ndre. 
The Duel Between Hamilton and Burr. 
The Battle of Monterey. 
The Battle of Chapultepec. 
The Siege of Vicksburg. 
General Sherman's March to the Sea. 
Jackson's Victories in Virginia. 
The Death of *^ Stonewall Jackson." 
The Story of Cuban Insurrections. 
The Great Naval Battle at Manila. 
The Great Naval Battle at Santiago. 
The Exploits of the " Rough Riders " 
San Juan. 

The Execution of John Brown. 
The Massacre at Fort Dearborn. 
The Discovery of Gold in California. 
The Opening of the Pacific Railroad. 
The Discovery of Gold in Alaska. 
The Massacre of General Custer, 



at 



SUBJECTS FOR COMPOSITIONS. 



85 



The Indian Wars in the Northwest. 
The World's Fair at Chicago. 
The Centennial Exhibition at Philadelphia. 
The Story of the Old Liberty Bell at 
Philadelphia. 
The Great Flood at Johnstown, Pa. 
The Destruction of the Battleship Maine. 
The Invention of Printing. 
Magna Charta, the Charter of Rights. 
Constantinople Taken by the French. 
The Moors Driven Out of Spain. 
The Reformation in England. 
The Invasion of Peru by Pizarro. 
The Battle of Trafalgar. 
The Spanish Armada. 
The Battle of Balaklava. 
The Gunpowder Plot (1605). 
The Atrocities of the Paris Commune. 
The Execution of Charles I. 
The Bursting of the South Sea Bubble. 
The Battle of Waterloo. 
The Dismemberment of Poland. 
The Great Mutiny in India. 
The French Revolution. 
The Martyrdom of Joan of Arc. 
The Crusades. 
The Siege of Troy. 
The Great Plague in London. 
The Battle of the Boyne. 
The Imprisonment of James I. of Scotland. 
The Story of Mary, Queen of Scots. 

BIOGRAPHICAL SUBJECTS. 

Miles Standish. 
Cotton Mather. 
Benjamin Franklin. 
John Jay. 
Samuel Adams. 
Fisher Ames. 
George Washington. 
William Penn. 
Marquis de Lafayette. 
Count Pulaski. 
General Israel Putnam. 



General Anthony Wayne. 

General Ethan Allen. 

Thomas Jefferson. 

Andrew Jackson. 

Martha Washington. 

Commodore Perry. 

Commodore Decatur. 

Daniel Webster. 

Henry Clay. 

Patrick Henry. 

John Hancock. 

General Winfield Scott. 

Zachary Taylor. 

The Indian Chief Tecumseh. 

William Henry Harrison. 

John C. Fremont. 

Abraham Lincoln. 

Robert E. Lee. 

Ulysses S. Grant. 

James A. Garfield. 

General William T. Sherman, 

Mary Lyon. 

Frances E. Willard. 

Susan B. Anthony. 

Clara Barton. 

Henry W. Longfellow. 

William Cullen Bryant. 

The Cary Sisters. 

Washington Irving. 

James Fenimore Cooper. 

Francis Scott Key. 

John Howard Payne. 

Daniel Boone. 

David Crockett. 

General Sam Houston. 

Lord Nelson. 

The Duke of Wellington. 

Napoleon Bonaparte. 

The Duke of Marlborough. 

Robert Bruce. 

Robert Burns. 

John Bright. 

William E. Gladstone. 

Alfred Tennyson. 



86 



SUBJECTS FOR COMPOSITIONS. 



Daniel O'Connell. 

Robert Emmet. 

Florence Nightingale. 

John Knox. 

Julius Caesar. 

Demosthenes. 

Cicero. 

Hannibal. 

Alexander the Great. 

Socrates. 

Xantippe. 

Queen Elizabeth. 

Oliver Cromwell. 

William Pitt. 

Frederick the Great. 

Captain Kidd. 

Ferdinand de Soto. 

Hernando Cortez. 

Sir John Franklin. 

Elisha Kent Kane. 

Cyrus W. Field. 

Professor Samuel B. F. Morse. 

Alexander T. Stewart. 

Peter Cooper. 

John Jacob Astor. 

William H. Vanderbilt. 

SUBJECTS FOR NARRATION AND 
DESCRIPTION. 

A New England Thanksgiving. 

The Puritan Sabbath. 

The Deserted Farm. 

The Dangers of Frontier Life. 

Natural Resources of the United States. 

Social Customs of the Last Century. 

A Spanish Bull Fight. 

The Falls of Niagara. 

The Hudson River. 

Mount Washington. 

A Western Prairie. 

The Cotton Fields of the South. 

The Orange Groves of Florida. 

"The Father of Waters." 

The Rapid Growth of Western Cities. 



{ A Ranch in the South- West. 
The Cov/boys of the Plains. 
The Great Trees of California. 
The Geysers of the Yellowstone Park. 
The Instinct in Animals. 
Some Recent Invention. 
Some Public Institutions. 
The Physical Characteristics of your State 
A Country Farm. 
Your Home Enjoyments. 
Fresh Air and its Uses, 
Town and Country Schools. 
Some Out Door School Games. 
The Beauties of Summer. 
The Remarkable Instinct of Birds. 
An Arctic Expedition. 
A Railway Station. 
A Picture Gallery. 
Electric Lights. 
Winds and Clouds. 
The Pastime of Fishing. 
The Pastime of Skating. 
Agricultural Implements. 
Habits of Domestic Animals. 
A Flower Garden. 
Singing Birds. 
Migration of Birds. 
The American Eagle. 
The Uses of Cats and Dogs. 
The Game of Foot Ball. 
The Game of Base Ball. 
Your Favorite Book. 

The County in which your School is Situ- 
ated. 

School Life : its Joys and Difficulties. 
Castles in the Air. 
The Pleasures of Christmas. 
Leaning Tower of Pisa. 
The Vatican at Rome. 
St. Paul's Cathedral in London. 
The Capitol at Washington. 
The White House at Washington. 
The Suspension Bridge between New York 
and Brooklyn. 



SUBJECTS FOR COMPOSITIONS. 



87 



Bunker Hill Monument. 

Mammoth Cave in Kentucky. 

Independence Hall in Philadelphia. 

An Ocean Steamship. 

An American Battleship. 

Coal Mines of Pennsylvania. 

A Seaside Watering Place. 

A Country Picnic. 

A Clam Bake by the Sea-shore. 

A Sleigh Ride. 

A Century Run on Bicycles. 

Your Favorite Walk. 

The Value of Sunshine. 

A Thunder Storm. 

A Summer Vacation. 

POPULAR PROVERBS. 

More Haste, Less Speed. 

Necessity is the Mother of Invention. 

What Can't be Cured must be Endured. 

Well Begun is Half Done. 

All that Glitters is not Gold. 

Evil Communications Corrupt Good Man- 
ners. 

Honesty is the Best Policy. 

A Stitch in Time Saves Nine. 

Prevention is Better than Cure. 

A Rolling Stone Gathers no Moss. 

Make Hay while the Sun Shines. 

Birds of a Feather. Flock Together. 

Knowledge is Power. 

Take Care of the Pennies and the Dollars 
will take Care of Themselves. 

A Bird in the Hand is Worth Two in the 
Bush. 

The Longest Way Around is the Shortest 
Way Home. 

The Proof of the Pudding is in the 
Eating. 

If you would Shoot High you must Aim 
High. 

Marry in Haste and Repent at Leisure. 

People who Live in Glass Houses should 
not Throw Stones, 



Be Sure you are Right, then Go Ahead. 

It is an 111 Wind that Blows Good to no 
One. 

Every Crow Thinks her own Little Crows 
the Blackest. 

You Cannot Make a Silk Purse out of a. 
Sow's Ear. 

The Least Said, the Soonest Mended. 

Speech is Silver, Silence is Golden. 

Manners Make the Man. 

SUBJECTS TO BE EXPOUNDED. 

Benefits of Industry. 

Evils of Idleness. 

Summer Sports in the Country. 

Winter Amusements in Cities. 

Shop Windows at Christmas Time. 

Habits of Economy. 

Advantages of Travel. 

Temptations of Riches. 

Dangers of Trades Unions. 

Benefits of Application. 

Advantages of Muscular Exercise. 

Physical and Moral Perils of Muscular Ex- 
ercise. 

Effects of Machinery upon Manual Labor. 

Pleasures of Literature. 

Sources of National Wealth. 

Benefits of Self-Control. 

Modern Methods of Benevolence. 

Responsibilities of Scholars. 

Causes of Commercial Decline. 

Advantages of a National Bankrupt Law. 

Peculiarities of the New England Poets. 

The Character of Wilkins Micawber. 

Claims of the Indians to Government Pro- 
tection. 

Evils of Immigration. 

Characteristics of the English Novel. 

Incentives to Literary Exertion. 

Reforms Suggested in " Oliver Twist." 

American Tendencies to Extravagance 

Uses of Gold. 

Uses of Public Libraries, 



88 



SUBJECTS FOR COMPOSITIONS. 



Infirmities of Genius. 
Excellencies of the Puritan Character. 
Miseries of Authorship. 
Blessings of Liberty. 
Pleasures in Contemplating Nature. 
Dangers that Threaten our Republic. 
Advantages of Method. 
Distinctions in Society. 
Rewards of Literary Labor. 
Struggles for Civil Freedom. 
Advantages of Competition. 
Uses of Adversity. 
Advantages of Self-Reliance. 
Evils of Prejudice. 

The Colonial Period of Our History. 
Uses of Art. 
Self-Made Men. 

Dickens' Caricatures of English Schools. 
Irving's Portraitures of the Dutch Settlers. 
Injuries of Stimulants. 
Evils of Centralization. 
Advantages of Modern Inventions. 
Uses of Coal. 

Sources of Corruption in Civil Offices. 
Elements of Success in Life. 
Dangers of the French Republic. 
Changes of Fashion. 
Social Dangers from Anarchists. 
Longfellow's " Hiawatha." 
Longfellow's " Evangeline." 
Oliver Wendell Holmes's Humor. 
Character of Eugene Field's Poetry. 
Characteristics of American Humor. 
Hardships of the New England Settlers. 
Persecution of the Jews. 
Causes of Nihilism in Russia. 
English Ideas of America. 
Methods of Reform in the Civil Service. 
Benefits of Mechanical Exhibitions. 
Strikes and Arbitrations. 
Time : its Use and Abuse. 
Employers and Men : their Rights and 
Relations. 

The Study of Modern Languages. 



The Study of Ancient Languages. 

Industry and Energy. 

The Duty of Cleanliness. 

Punctuality. 

Courage. 

Fortitude. 

Cruelty to Animals. 

The Law of Supply and Demand. 

" Right before Might." 

The Telescope and Microscope. 

Manhood Suffrage. 

'' The New Woman." 

Uses and Abuses of Money. 

The Cultivation of Music. 

Amusements for Young People. 

The Great Discoverers of Queen Eliza- 
beth's Reign. 

Pleasures of the Imagination. 

Natural History as a Study. 

Your Favorite Female Character. 

The Cultivation of Memory. 

Mental Discipline from the Study of Math- 
ematics. 

Knowledge the Best Kind of Wealth. 

The Position and Prospects of the United 
States. 

The Influence of Scenery on Character. 

Sketch of the Plot of Any One of Shake- 
speare's Plays. 

How to Best Help the Poor. 

Influence of Works of Fiction. 

Description of Any One of Sir Waltef 
Scott's Poems and Novels. 

Changes Caused by the Invention of the 
Typewriter, 

The Saloon in Modern Politics. 

The Evils of Great Trusts. 

Utility of Shorthand. 

Great Poets of England. 

Dante's Inferno. 

The Alhambra. 

The Catacombs of Rome. 

The Style of John Bunyan. 

The Consolations of Age. 






SUBJECTS FOR COMPOSITIONS. 



89 



The Dangers Arising from Great Trusts. 

The Coast Guard Service. 

The Wrongs of Ireland. 

Plot of any one of Bret Harte s Novels. 

The Lives of the Poor in Large Cities. 

On Making Music a Profession. 

The Novel Entitled *' Lorna Doone." 

The Duty of Cheerfulness, 

Cervantes, the Soldier and the Writer. 

Our American Humorists. 

Martin Luther's Moral Courage. 

Truth the Standard of Excellence. 

The Evils of Prejudice. 

The Power of Ridicule. 

The Power of Early Impressions. 

The Exiles of Siberia. 

Politics as a Profession. 

SUBJECTS FOR ARGUMENT. 

Should a Polygamist be Admitted to Con- 
gress ? 

Should Eight Hours Constitute a Day's 
Labor ? 

Should Political Spoils Belong to the 
Victors ? 

Is a National Debt a Benefit ? 

Is Poverty an Incentive to Crime ? 

Should the United States Maintain a Large 
Standing Army ? 

Should Office Holders be Assessed for 
Party Expenses ? 

Is Drunkenness any Excuse for Murder ? 

Would Harmony in Human Beliefs be 
Desirable ? 

Should There be a Uniform Divorce Law 
in All Our States ? 

Can a Country be Free Without Free 
Trade ? 

Should Church Property be Exempt from 
Taxation ? 

Should Capital Punishment be Abolished? 

Do Luxuries Become Necessities ? 

Should a Man Vote Who Cannot Read? 

Was Thackeray a Cynic ? 



Should Public School Money be Given to 
Religious Sects ? 

Should Writers Adopt Phonetic Spelling? 

Is a Man of Business Benefited by a Clas- 
sical Education ? 

Is Literature Indicative of National Pro- 
gress ? 

Is Electricit}^ Destined to Become the 
Greatest Motive Power? 

Should the Inventor Monopolize His In- 
vention? 

Should Cremation Supersede Burial ? 

Was the Execution of Andre Unjust ? 

Is Crime in Our Country on the Increase ? 

Does the Press in Our Country have too 
much Freedom ? 

SUBJECTS FOR COMPARISON. 

Falsehood and Truth. 

Practice and Habit. 

Wit and Humor. 

Extravagance and Thrift. 

Confusion and Order. 

The Democrats and Whigs. 

Natural and Acquired Ability. 

The Comparative Value of Iron acu 
Gold. 

Foreign and Domestic Commerce. 

The Cavalier and the Puritan. 

Waterloo and Sedan. 

The Stage Coach and the Locomotive. 

The Uses and Abuses of Fashion. 

Capital and Labor. 

Genius and Talent. 

Romance and Reality. 

" The Pen is Mightier than the Sword." 

Notoriety and Reputation. 

Resolution and Action. 

Working and Dreaming. 

Leo X and Martin Luther. 

The Statesmanship of Hamilton and Jeffer 
son. 

War and Arbitration. 

Helen and Andromache. 



90 



SUBJECTS FOR COMPOSITIONS. 



"When the Law Ends, Tyranny Begins." 
** Deep Versed in Books, and Shallow in 
Himself." 

The Victories of Peace and of War. 

Hypocrisy and Sincerity. 

Solitude and Society. 

Affection and Naturalness. 

Brusque People and Fawning People. 

MISCELLANEOUS SUBJECTS FOR 
COMPOSITIONS. 

Looking on the Bright Side. 
The Character of Busybodies. 
Benevolence and Greed. 
Character of the Pilgrims. 
Painting and Sculpture. 
The Head and the Heart. 
Party Spirit and Good Government. 
The Responsibility of Our Country to 
Mankind. 

The Obligation of Treaties. 

Great Men the Glory of their Country. 

Ancient and Modern Eloquence. 

Conscience and the Will. 

The Heroism of the Indian. 

Religion and Pleasure. 

Spiritual Freedom. 

The Present Age. 

The Humorousness of Love Matches. 

The Influence of Woman. 

The Mission of Reformers. 

The True Aristocracy. 



The Expansion of the Republic. 
The Bible and the Iliad. 
The Huguenots in Carolina. 
Puritan Intolerance. 
The Compensations of Calamity. 
Stateliness and Courtesy. 
Truth and Tenderness. 
Loungers in Corner Groceries. 
A Defense of Enthusiasm. 
The Ancient Mound Builders. 
The Power of Words. 
The Advantages of Playing Golf. 
College Athletics. 
The Physique of Americans. 
The Influence of Climate on Physical 
Characteristics. 

** Home is Where the Heart is." 

Coral Treasures of the Sea. 

Subhmity of the Ocean. 

The Beauty of Sea Waves. 

The Power of Maternal Love. 

The Beauty of Heroic Deeds. 

The Ravages of War. 

Children and Flowers. 

Earning Capital. 

The Sacredness of Work. 

" The Boy is the Father of the Man." 

The Last Hours of Socrates. 

The Discoveries of Astronomy. 

Luck and Labor. 

The Achievements of Earnestness. 

The Ideal Citizen. 



Synonyms and Antonyms 




E use words to express ideas and thoughts. The best words are those which 
best express the thought or idea. All writers are frequently at a loss for the 
exact word or phrase that will express their meaning the most forcibly, and are 
compelled to ransack and search their vocabulary in order to get out of the difficulty. 

The number of words used by the majority of persons is very small, and they are there- 
fore in constant danger of the fault of repetition. We do not like to hear a speaker use 
the same word too frequently. To do so detracts seriously from the force and beauty 
of his address. While there are instances in which a repetition of a word is called for, and 
to make use of another would weaken the sentence and fail to fully give the meaning of the 
writer or speaker, it i-s nevertheless true that constant repetitions are not only a blemish, but 
a fault that should be corrected. 

For the purpose of avoiding too much repetition in writing and speaking it is necessary 
to have a Dictionary of v/ords of similar meaning. A Synonym is one of two or more 
words of similar significance which rhay often be used interchangeably. An Antonym is 
a word of opposite meaning. In the following list the Synonyms are first given ; then 
follow, in parenthesis, the Antonyms, or words of opposite meaning. 

All persons who would acquire an elegant style in literary composition, correspondence 
or ordinary conversation, will find this comprehensive Dictionary of Synonyms and Anto- 
nyms of great value. Jewels of thought should be set in appropriate language. 

In this table the letter a means adjective ; v means verb ; n means noun or substantive. 

ABANDON — forsake, desert, renounce, relinquish. 
(Keep, cherish. ) 

ABANDONED — deserted, forsaken, profligate, 
wicked, reprobate, dissolute, flagitious, corrupt, 
depraved, vicious. (Respected, esteemed, cher- 
ished, virtuous.) 

ABASEMENT — degradation, fall, degeneracy, hu- 
miliation, abjectn ess, debasement, servility. (Ele- 
vation, promotion, honor.) 

ABASH — disconcert, discompose, confound, confuse, 
shame, bewilder. (Embolden.) 

ABBREVIATE— shorten, curtail, contract, abridge, 
condense, reduce, compress. (Lengthen, extend, 
enlarge, expand.) 

ABDICATE — renounce, resign, relinquish. (Usurp.) 

ABET — incite, stimulate, whet, encourage, back up, 
second, countenance, assist. (Dampen, discour- 
age, dispirit, depress, repress, oppose.) 

I^BETTOR — instigator, prompter, assistant, coad- 
jutor, accomplice, accessory, particeps criminis. 
(Extinguisher.) 

ABHOR — ^loathe, abominate, (Love, admire.) 

ABILITY— power, skill, gumption, efl&ciency, mas- 
tery, qualification, faculty, expertness. (Incom- 
petence, inefficiency, inability.) 

xlBjECT — despised, despicable, vile, grovelling, 
mean, base, worthless, servile. (Supreme, august, 
commanding, noble.) 

ABJURE — forswear, disclaim, unsay, r'^'cant, revoke, 
deny, disown. (Attest, affirm. ) 



ABLE — competent, qualified, skilled, efficient, capa- 
ble, clever, adroit, adept, strong, telling, masterly. 
(Incompetent, weak, unskilful, unqualified.) 

ABODE — dwelling, residence, domicile, home, quar- 
ters, habitation, lodging, settlement. (Transition, 
shifting, wandering, pilgrimage, peregrination.) 

ABOLISH — efface, extinguish, annihilate, nullify, 
destroy, undo, quash, annul, cancel, abrogate, 
quench, suppress, vitiate, revoke. (Introduce, 
establish, enforce, restore. ) 

ABOMINABLE— detestable, hateful, odious, exe- 
crable. (Choice, excellent, attractive, select.) 

ABORTIVE — ineflfectual, futile, inoperative, defee- 
tive, inadequate. (Efficient, productive, complete. ) 

ABOUT — around, near to, nearly, approximately , 
contiguous. (Remote from, distant.) 

ABSCOND — take oneself off, " vamoose," disappear, 
decamp, run away. (Thrust oneself into notice.) 

ABSENT — not present, wanting, absentminded, 
abstracted, inattentive, listless, dreamy, visionary, 
(Present, collected, composed, vigilant, observant. | 

ABSOLUTE — certain, unconditioned, unconditional, 
unlimited, unrestricted, transcendent, authorita- 
tive, paramount, imperative, arbitrary, despotic, 
(Conditional, limited, hampered, fettered.) 

ABSORB — SHck up, imbibe, engross, drain away, 
consume. (Reserve, save, spare, husband, econ- 
omize, hoard up.) 

ABSURD — unreasonable, nonsensical, foolish, vain, 
impracticable. (Reasonable, prudent, veracious.) 

91 



92 



SYNONYMS AND ANTONYMS. 



ABUSE, V. — pervert, deprave, traduce, debase, dis- 
parage, slander, calumniate, rail at, reproach, 
depreciate. ( Improve, develop, cultivate, promote, 
bless, magnify, appreciate.) 

ABUSE, n. — perversion, ill-usage, depravation, de- 
basement, slander, reproach. (Cultivation, use, 
promotion, development, appreciation, praise.) 

ACCEDE^'oin, as.scnt, acquiesce in, comply, agree, 
concur, coincide, approve. (Dissent, object, 
decline, refuse. ) 

ACCELERATE— hasten, hurry, speed, expedite, 
quicken, precipitate, facilitate. (Retard, delay, 
procrastinate, arrest, stop, impede, suspend.) 

ACCEPT — take, receive, assume, acknowledge, en- 
dorse. (Refuse, repudiate, protest, disown.) 

ACCEPTABLE— pleasant, grateful, welcome. (Re- 
pugnant, displeasing. ) 

ACCIDENT— casualty, contingency, hap, mishap, 
chance, mischance, misadventure. (Law, order.) 

ACCOMMODATE— adjust, adapt, fit, conform, rec- 
oncile, suit, oblige, furnish, convenience. (Cross, 
thwart, counteract, plot against, checkmate, de- 
feat, inconvenience.) 

ACCOMPLICE— confederate, ally, associate, acces- 
sory, particcps criminis. (Adversary, rival, spy, 
opponent, enemy. ) 

ACCOMPLISH — complete, perform, finish, fulfil, 
execute, perfect, consummate, achieve, effect, carry 
out. (Fail, miscarry, undo, wreck, frustrate.) 

ACCOMPLISHMENT— success, fulfilment, comple- 
tion, performance, execution, achievement, con- 
summation, attainment. (Failure, miscarriage, 
wreck, ruin. ) 

ACCORD — harmonize, agree, allow, grant, concede. 
(Jar, clash with, deny, disallow.) 

ACCOST — address, confront, speak to, greet, salute. 
( Evade, fight shy of. ) 

ACCOUNT, V. — compute, estimate, reckon up, take 
stock of. (Leave unexplained, unsolved. ) 

ACCOUNT, n. — reckoning, relation, charge, bill. 
(Riddle, mj'stery, puzzle, unknown quantity.) 

ACCOUNTABLE — answerable, responsible, amen- 
able. (Exempt, free, irresponsible.) 

ACCUMULATE— heap up, save, collect. (Scatter, 
dissipate, diffuse, spend, squander.) 

ACCUMULATION— heap, amount, glut, (Dissi- 
pation, dissemination, distribution, diminution.) 

ACCURATE — definite, precise, correct, exact. (In- 
accurate, wrong, erroneous, blundering, careless.) 

ACHIEVE — complete, gain, win. 

ACHIEVEMENT— feat, exploit, distinguished per- 
formance, acquirement. (Abortion, frustration, 
failure, shortcoming, defect.) 

ACKNOWLEDGE — avow, confess, own, recognize, 
admit, grant, concede. (Repudiate, disclaim, 
disallow, disown, deny. 

ACQUAINT — make known, apprise, inform, com- 
municate, intimate, notify. (Leave ignorant, keep 
secret, conceal.) 

ACQUAINTANCE— knowledge, familiarity, fellow- 
ship, companionship. (Ignorance, stranger.) 

ACQUIESCE — yield, concur, agree, assent. (Protest, 
object, dissent, secede, oppose.) 



ACQUIT — set free, release, discharge, clear, absolve, 
exculpate, exonerate, liberate, deliver. (Accuse, 
impeach, charge, blame, convict.) 

ACT, V. — do, perform, commit, operate, work, prac- 
tice, behave, personate, play, enact. (Neglect, 
cease, desist, rest, wait, lie idle, refrain.) 



gesture, engagement, fight, deed, battle, feat. 
(Inaction, repose, rest, idleness, ease, indolence, 
inertia, passiveness, quiescence, dormancy.) 

ACTIVE — energetic, busy, stirring, alive, brisk, 
operative, lively, agile, nimble, diligent, sprightly, 
alert, quick, supple, prompt, industrious. (Passive^ 
inert, dead, extinct, dull, torpid, sluggish, indo- 
lent, lazy, dormant, quiescent, asleep.) 

ACTUAL — real, positive, existing, certain. (False, 
imaginary, theoretical, illusive, fictitious.) 

ACUTE — sharp, pointed, penetrating, piercing, 
keen, • poignant, pungent, intense, violent, shrill, 
sensitive, sharp-witted, shrewd, discriminating, 
clever, cunning. (Obtuse, blunc, bluff, dull, flat, 
callous, stupid, apathetic.) 

ADAPT— fit, suit, adjust, conform, regulate. (Misfit, 
discommode, dislocate. ) 

ADDICTED — committed to, devoted, prone, given 
up to, inclined, habituated. (Uncommitted, free, 
uncompromised, neutral. ) 

ADDITION — annexation, accession, supplement, 
adjunct, affix, appendage, accessory, increment, 
increase, complement, ^/z^.?, more. (Subtraction, 
deduction, retrenchment, curtailment, deprivation, 
minus, less, loss, impoverishment.) 

ADDRESS — speech, salutation, accost, appeal ; also 
skill, dexterity, adroitness ; also direction, name ; 
also residence. (Response, answer, reply, rejoin- 
der ; also awkwardness, maladroitness, clumsiness, 
slovenliness. ) 

ADHESION — sticking, adherence, adoption, attach- 
ment, espousal. (Repulsion, revulsion, antipathy, 
aversion, hostility, incompatibility, dislike.) 

ADJACENT — next, near, nigh, at hand, alongside, 
close by, adjoining, contiguous, bordering, neigh- 
boring, proximate. (Remote, foreign, distant, 
aloof, far, apart, asunder.) 

ADJOURN — put off, postpone, defer, delay, keep in 
abeyance, prorogue, suspend, procrastinate, retard, 
waive, remand, reserve. (Conclude, clinch, ac- 
celerate, precipitate. ) 

ADJUNCT — appendage, affix, annex, annexation, 
appendix, adhesion, appurtenance. (Curtailment, 
retrenchment, lop, mutilation, reduction, clipping, 
docking, filching.) 

ADJUST — make exact, set right, fit, adapt, dovetail, 
arrange, harmonize, settle, regulate. (Confound, 
confuse muddle, disorder, perplex, embarrass, 
entangle, clash, jar, jumble, disarrange, unsettle.) 

ADMIRABLE — wonderful, excellent, choice, noble, 
grand, estimable, lovely, ideal, surpassing, extra- 
ordinary, eminent. (Detestable, vile, mean, con- 
temptible, despicable, worthless, wretched, villain- 
ous, pitiful. ) 

ADMIT — allow, permit, suffer, receive, usher, grant, 
acknowledge, confess, concede, accept. (Deny, 
refuse, shut out, forbid, diso.wn, disclaim.) 



SYNONYMS AND ANTONYMS. 



&S 



ADVANTAGEOUS— profitable, serviceable, useful, 
beneficial, helpful, of value. (Disadvantageous, 
detrimental, prejudicial, injurious, hurtful, harm- 
ful, deleterious, obnoxious, pernicious.) 

AFFKCTION — bent, inclination, partiality, attrac- 
tion, impulse, love, desire, passion, fascination ; 
also suffering, disease, morbidness. (Repulsion, 
revulsion, antipathy, dislike, recoil, aversion, 
estrangement, indifference, coldness, alienation ; 
also wholeness, soundness, healthiness.) 

AFFECTIONATE— loving, kind, fond, doting, ten- 
der, amiable, cordial, hearty, good-hearted. (Cold, 
unloving, unkind, heartless, selfish, crabbed, sour, 
malign, malicious, malevolent, misanthropic, cyn- 
ical, ill-natured, cruel, hating. ) 

AGREEABLE — pleasant, acceptable, grateful, re- 
freshing, genial, pleasing, palatable, sweet, charm- 
ing, delectable. (Disagreeable, displeasing, un- 
pleasant, ungrateful, harsh, repellent, painful, 
noxious, plaguy, irritating, annoying, mortifying.) 

ALTERNATING — reciprocal, correlative, inter- 
changeable, by turns, vice versa. (Monotonous, 
unchanging, continual.) 

AMBASSADOR — ^messenger, envoy, emissary, le- 
gate, nuncio, diplomatist, diplomate, representa- 
tive, vicegerent, plenipotentiary, minister, agent. 
(Principal, government, sovereign, power.) 

AMEND — improve, correct, better, meliorate, rec- 
tify, prune, repair, revise, remedy, reform. (Injure, 
impair, damage, harm, hurt, mar, mangle, blemish, 
deteriorate, ruin, spoil.) 

ANGER — resentment, animosity, wrath, indignation, 
pique, umbrage, huff, displeasure, dungeon, irrita- 
tion, irascibility, choler, ire, hate. (Kindness, 
benignity, bonhomie^ good nature.) 

APPROPRIATE — assimilate, assume, possess one- 
self of, take, grab, clutch, collar, snap up, capture, 
steal. (Relinquish, give up, surrender, yield, re- 
sign, forego, renounce, abandon, discard, dismiss. ) 

ARGUE — reason, discuss, debate, dispute, contend. 
(Obscure, darken, mystify, mislead, misrepresent, 
evade, sophisticate.) 

ARISE — ^rise, ascend, mount, climb, soar, spring, 
emanate, proceed, issue. (Descend, fall, gravitate, 
drop, slide, settle, decline, sink, dismount, alight.) 

ARTFUL — cunning, crafty, skilful, wily, designing, 
politic, astute, knowing, tricky. (Artless, naive, 
natural, simple, plain, ingenuous, frank, sincere, 
open, candid, guileless, straightforward, direct.) 

ARTIFICE — contrivance, stratagem, trick, design, 
plot, machination, chicanery, knavery, jugglery, 
guile, jobbery. (Artlessness, candor, openness, 
simplicity, innocence, ingenuousness.) 

ASSOCIATION— partnership, fellowship, solidarity, 
league, alliance, combination, coalition, federa- 
tion, junto, cabal. (Opposition, antagonism, con- 
flict, counteraction, resistance, hinderance, count- 
erplot, detachment, individualism.) 

ATTACK — assault, charge, onset, onslaught, incur- 
sion, inroad, bombardment, cannonade. (Defence, 
protection, guard, ward, resistance, stand, repulse, 
rebuff, retreat.) • 

AUDACITY — boldness, defiance, prowess, intre- 
pidity, mettle, game, pluck, fortitude, rashness, 
temerity, presumption, foolhaiainess, courage, 



hardihood. (Cowardice, pusillanimity, timidity, 
meekness, poltroonery, fear, caution, calculation, 
discretion, prudence.) 

AUSTERE — severe, harsh, rigid, stern, rigorous, 
uncompromising, inflexible, obdurate, exacting, 
straight-laced, unrelenting. (Lax, loose, slack, 
remiss, weak, pliant, lenient, mild, indulgent 
easy-going, forbearing, forgiving.) 

AVARICIOUS— tight-fistcf! , griping, churlisk, par- 
simonious, stingy, penurious, miserly niggardly, 
close, illiberal, ungenerous, covetous, greedy, 
rapacious. (Prodigal, thriftless, improvident, ex- 
travagant, lavish, dissipated, freehanded.) 

AVERSION — antipathy, revulsion, repulsion, dis- 
like, recoil, estrangement, alienation, repugnance, 
disgust, nausea. (Predilection, fancy, fascination, 
allurement, attraction, magnet. ) 

AWE — dread, fear, reverence, prostration, admira- 
tion, bewilderment. (Familiarty, indifference, 
heedlessness, unconcern, contempt, mockery.) 

AXIOM — maxim, aphorism, apophthegm, adage, 
motto, dictum^ theorem, truism, proverb, saw. 
(Absurdity, paradox.) 

BABBLE — splash, gurgle, bubble, purl, ripple, prat- 
tle, clack, gabble, clash, jabber, twaddle, prate, 
chatter, blab. (Silence, hush.) 

BAD — depraved, defiled, distorted, corrupt, evil, 
wicked, wrong, sinful, morbid, foul, peccant, nox- 
ious, pernicious, diseased, imperfect, tainted, 
touched. (Good, whole, sound, healthy, benefi- 
cial, salutary, prime, perfect, entire, untouched, 
unblemished, intact, choice, worthy.) 

BAFFLE — thwart, checkmate, defeat, disconcert, 
confound, block, outwit, traverse, contravene, 
frustrate, balk, foil. (Aid, assist, succor, further, 
forward, expedite, sustain, second, reinforce.) 

BASE — crude, undeveloped, iow, villainous, mean, 
deteriorated, misbegotten, ill-contrived, ill-consti- 
tuted. (Noble, exalted, lofty, sublime, excellent, 
elect, choice, aristocratic, exquisite, capital. ) 

BEAR — carry, hold, sustain, support, suffer, endure, 
beget, generate, produce, breed, hatch. (Lean, 
depend, hang, yield, sterile, unproductive.) 

BEASTLY — bestial, animal, brutal, sensual, gross, 
carnal, lewd. (Human, humane, virtuous, moral, 
ethical, intellectual, thoughtful, spiritual. ) 

BEAT — strike, smite, thrash, thwack, thump, pum- 
mel, drub, leather, baste, belabor, birch, scourge, 
defeat, surpass, rout, overthrow. (Protect, de- 
fend, soothe. ) 

BEAUTIFUL — fair, complete, symmetrical, hand- 
some. (Ugly, repulsive, foul.) 

BECOMING — suiting, accordant, fit, seemly. (Dis 
crepant, improper, in bad form.) 

BEG— beseech, crave, entreat. (Offer, proffer.) 

BEHAVIOR — carriage, deportment, conduct. 

BENEFICENT— bountiful, generous, liberal. (Sor- 
did, mercenary.) 

BENEFIT — good, advantage, service. (Loss, detri- 
ment, injury.) 

BENEVOLENCE— well-wishing, charity. (Male- 
volence, malice, hate.) 

BLAME — censure, reproach. (Approve, honor. \, 



94 



SYNONYMS AND ANTONYMS. 



BLEMISH— flaw, stain, spot, imperfectiou, defect. 
(Ornament, decoration, embellishment, adorn- 
ment, finery, gilding.) 

BLIND — dimsighted, ignorant, uninformed. (Sharp- 
sighted, enlightened.) 

BLOT — efiface, cancel, expunge, erase. (Record.) 

BOLD — brave, daring, fearless, intrepid, courageous. 
(Cowardly, timid, shy, chicken-hearted.) 

BORDER — margin, boundary, frontier, confine, 
fringe, hem, selvedge, valance. (Inclosure, in- 
terior, inside.) 

BOL^ND — circumscribe, limit, restrict, confine, en- 
close ; also leap, jump, hop, spring, vault, skip. 
(Enlarge, clear, deliver; also plunge, dip, sink.) 

BRAVE — dare, defy. (Cave in, show the white 
feather. ) 

BREAK — bruise, crush, pound, squeeze, crack, snap, 

splinter. (Bind, hold together, knit, rivet.) 
BREEZE— blow, zephyr. (Stillness, hush, calm.) 
BRIGHT— shining, lustrous, radiant. (Dull, dim.) 
BRITTLE— frangible, fragile, frail. (Tough.) 
BURIAL — interment, sepulture, obsequies. (Exhu- 
mation, disinterment, ) 
BUSINESS — occupation, employment, pursuit, voca- 
tion, calling, profession, craft, trade. (Leisure, 
vacation, plaj'.) 
BUSTLE— stir, fuss, ado, flurry. (Quiet, stillness.) 

CALAMITY — misfortune, disaster, catastrophe. 

(Good luck, prosperity.) 
CALM — still, motionless, placid, serene, composed. 
(Stormy, unsettled, restless, agitated, distracted.) 
CAPABLE — competent, able, eiEcient. (Unqualified. ) 
CAPTIOUS — censorious, cantankerous. (Concilia- 
tory, bland.) 
CARE — solicitude, concern. (Negligence, careless- 
ness, nonchalance.) 
CARESS— fondle, love, pet. (Spurn, disdain.) 
CARNAGE — butchery, gore, massacre, slaughter. 
CAUSE — origin, source, ground, reason, motive 
CENSURE — reprehend, chide. (Approve.) 
CERTAIN— sure, infallible. (Doubtful, dubious.) 
CESSATION — discontinuance, stoppage, rest, halt. 

(Perseverance, persistence, continuance.) 
CHANCE — accident, luck. (Intention, purpose.) 
'CHANGE — exchange, bourse^ mart, emporium. 
CHANGEABLE— mutable, variable, fickle. (Stead- 
fast, firm.) 
CHARACTER — constitution, nature, disposition. 
CHARM — fascination, enchantment, witchery, at- 
traction. (Nuisance, mortification, bore, plague.) 
CHASTITY — purity, virtue. (Concupiscence.) 
CHE.A-P — inexpensive, worthless. (Dear, costly.) 
CHEERFUL — blithe, lightsome, brisk, sprightly. 

(IMelancholy, sombre, morose, gloomy, vsad. ) 
CHIEF — sachem, head, ruler. (Vassal, henchman.) 
CIRCUMvSTANCE— situation, predicament. 
CLASS — division, category, departaient, order, kind, 
sort, genus, species, variety. 



CLEVER — adroit, dexterous, expert, deft, readyf 
smart. (Awkward, dull, shiftless, clumsy.) 

CLOTHED — dressed, arrayed, apparelled. (Dis- 
robed, stripped.) 

COARSE — crude, unrefined. (Refined, cultivated.'*' 

COAX — cajole, wheedle, fawn, lure, induce, entice. 
(Dissuade, indispose, warn, admonish.) 

COLD — frigid, chill, inclement. (Hot, glowing.) 

COLOR — hue, tint, tinge, tincture, dye, shade, stain. 
(Pallor, paleness, wanness, blankness, achroma 
tism, discoloration. ) 

COMBINATION — coalescence, fusion, faction, coali- 
tion, league. (Dissolution, rupture, schism.) 

COMMAND — empire, rule. (Anarchy, license.) 

COMMODITY — goods, efiects, merchandise, stock. 

COMMON — general, ordinary, mean, base. (Rare, 
exceptional, unique. 

COMPASSION — pity, commiseration, sympathy. 
(Cruelty, severity.) 

COMPEL — force, coerce, oblige, necessitate, make, 
constrain.' (Let alone, tolerate.) 

COMPENSATION— amends, atonement, requital. 
(Withholding.) 

COMPENDIUM— abstract, epitome, digest. (Am- 
plification, expansion.) 

COMPLAIN — ^lament, murmur, regret, repine, de- 
plore. (Rejoice, exult, boast, brag, chuckle. ) 

COMPLY — consent, yield, acquiesce. (Refuse, 
deny, decline.) 

COMPOUND, a. — composite, complex, blended. 
(Simple, elementary.) 

COMPREHEND — comprise, contain, embrace, in- 
clude, enclose, grasp. (Exclude, reject, mistake, 
eliminate, loss. ) 

CONCEAL — hide, secrete, cover, screen, shroud, 
veil, disguise. (Publish, report, divulge.) 

CONCEIVE — grasp, apprehend, devise, invent. 
(Ignorant of.) 

CONCLUSION— result, finding. (Undetermined.) 

CONDEMN — convict, find guilty, sentence, doom. 
(Acquit.) 

CONDUCT, V. — direct, mmage, govern. (Follow, 
obey, submit. ) 

CONFIRM — corroborate, ratify, endorse, support, 
uphold. (Weaken, enfeeble, reduce.) 

CONFLICT — contend, contest, wrestle, tussle, clash, 
wrangle. (Harmonize, agree, fraternize, concur.) 

CONFUTE— refute, disprove. (Demonstrate.) 

CONQUER — defeat, vanquish, overcome. (Fail, be 
beaten, lose.) 

CONSEQUENCE— effect, derivation, result, event, 
issue. (Cause, origin, source, antecedent.) 

CONSIDER— reflect, deliberate. (Forget, ignore.) 

CONSISTENT— accordant, concordant, compatible, 
consonant, congruous, reconcilable, harmonious. 
(Discordant, discrepant.) 

CONSOLE — relieve, soothe, comfort. (Embitter.) 

CONSTANCY— continuance, tenacity, stability. 
(Irresolution, fickleness.) 

CONTAMINATF:— Pollute, stain, taint, tarnish, 
blur, smudge, defile. (Cleanse, purify, purge.) 



SYNONYMS AND ANTONYMS. 



95 



CONTEMN — despise, disdain, scorn. (Esteem, ap- 
precite, admire.) 

CONTEMPLATE— survej^ scan, observe, intend. 
(Disregard.) 

CONTEMPTIBLE— despicable, paltry, shabby, beg- 
garly, worthless, vile, cheap, trashy. (Estimable.) 

CONTEND — fight, wrangle, vie. (Be at peace. ) 

CONTINUAL — ^perpetual, endless, ceaseless, (Mo- 
mentary, transient. ) 

CONTINUE — remain, persist, endure. (Desist, stay. ) 

CONTRADICT— deny, gainsay, oppose. (Affirm, 
assert, declare.) 

CORRECT— mend, rectify. (Impair, muddle.) 

COST — expense, charge, price, value. 

oOVETOUSNESS — avarice, cupidity, extortion. 
(Generosity, liberality.) 

COWARDICE — poltroonery, faint - heartedness. 
(Courage, boldness, intrepidity.) 

CRIME — offence, trespass, misdemeanor, felony, 
transgression. (Innocence, guiltlessness.) 

CRIMINAL — culprit, felon, convict. (Paragon.) 

CROOKED — twisted, distorted, bent, awry, wry, 
askew, deformed. (Straight, upright.) 

CRUEL — ^brutal, ferocious, barbarous, blood-thirsty, 
fiendish. (Kind, benignant, benevolent.) 

CULTIVATION— tillage, culture. (Waste.) 

CURSORY — fugitive, hurried, perfunctory. (Per- 
manent, thorough. ) 

CUSTOM — habit, wont, usage, fashion, practice. 

DANGER— peril, hazard, jeopardy. (Safety. ) 

DARK — obscure, sombrous, opaque, unintelligible. 
(Light, luminous, shining, clear, lucid.) 

DEADLY — mortal, fatal, destructive, lethal. 

DEAR — costly, precious, high-priced, beloved, dar- 
ling, pet, favorite. (Cheap, disliked, despised.) 

DEATH — decease, demise, dissolution. (Birth, life. ) 

DECAY, n. — decline, consumption, atrophy. (De- 
velopment, growth.) 

DECEIVE — cheat, defraud, cozen, overreach, gull, 
dupe, swindle, victimize. (Truthfulness. ) 

DECEIT, n. — imposition, fraud, deception. (Vera- 
city, honesty. ) 

DECIDE — determine, resolve, conclude, settle, ad- 
judicate, arbitrate, terminate. (Hesitate, dilly- 
dally, shuffle.) 

DECIPHER — interpret, explain, construe, unravel. 
(Mistake, confound.) 

DECISION — determination, conclusion, firmness. 
(Wavering, hesitancy.) 

DECLAMATION— harangue, oration, recitation, 
tirade, speech. 

DECLARATION — affirmation, assertion. (Denial.) 

DECREASE — diminish, lessen, reduce, wane, de- 
cline. (Increase, grow, enlarge.) 

DEDICATE— consecrate, devote, offer, apportion. 

DEED— act, transaction, exploit, document. 

DEEM— judge, estimate, consider, esteem, suppose. 

DEEP— profound, abtruse, hidden, extraordin?-ily 
wise. (Shallow, superficial.} 



DEFACE — mar, spoil, injure, disfigure. (Beautify.) 

DEFAULT — shortcoming, deficiency, defect, im- ' 
perfection. (Sufficiency, satisfaction.) 

DEFENCE — fortification, bulwark, vindication, jus- 
tification, apology. 

DEFEND — shield, vindicate. (Assault, accuse.) 

DEFICIENT— incomplete, lacking. (Entire, per- 
fect, whole.) 

DEFILE — soil, smutch, besmear, begrime. 

DEFINE — limit, bound. (Enlarge, expand.) 

DEFRAY — pay, settle, liquidate, satisfy, clear. 

DEGREE — grade, extent, measure, ratio, standard. 

DELIBERATE, a. — circumspect, wary, cautious. 
(Heedless, thoughtless.) 

DELICACY— nicety, dainty, tit-bit, taste, refine- 
ment, modesty. (Grossness, coarseness, vulgarity. 
indecorum. ) 

DELICATE— dainty, refined. (Coarse, beastly.) 

DELICIOUS — savor}^, palatable, luscious, charm- 
ing, delightful. (Offensive, nasty, odious, shock- 
ing, nauseous.) 

DELIGHT— gratification, felicity. (Mortification, 
vexation. ) 

DELIVER — transfer, consign, utter, liberate, de- 
clare. (Keep, retain, restrain, check, bridle.) 

DEMONSTRATE— prove, show, manife.st. (Mystify, 
obscure. ) 

DEPART — quit, vacate, retire, withdraw, remove. 

DEPRIVE — strip, bereave, despoil. (Invest, equip.) 

DEPUTE — commission, delegate, accredit, entrust. 

DERISION — ridicule, scoffing, mockery, raillery, 
chaff, badinage. (Awe, dread, reverence.) 

DERIVATION — origin, source, spring, emanation, 
etymology. 

DESCRIBE — delineate, portray, style, specify, 
characterize. 

DESECRATE— profane, blaspheme, revile. (Con- 
secrate, sanctify.) 

DESERVE — merit, be entitled to, earn, justify. 

DESIGN, n. — delineation, illustration, sketch, plan, 
drawing, portraiture, draught, projection, scheme, 
proposal, outline. 

DESIRABLE — eligible, suitable, acceptable. (Unfit, 
objectionable. ) 

DESIRE, n. — wish, longing, hankering, appetite. 

DESOLATE, «.— lonely, solitar}^, bereaved, forlorn, 
forsaken, deserted, bleak, dreary. (Befriended, 
social, festive. ) 

DESPERATE— frenzied, frantic, furious. (Calm, 
composed, moderate.) 

DESTINY — fatality, doom, predestination, decree, 
fate. (Casualty, accident, contingency, chance.) 

DESTRUCTIVE— mischievous, disastrous, deleteri- 
( Creative, beneficial.) 

DESUETUDE— disuse, discontinuance. (Use, habit, 
practice.) 

DESULTORY— immethodical, disconnected, ramb- 
ling, discontinuous, interrupted, fitful, inter- 
mittent. (Continuous, consecutive, constant.) 

DETAIL, /?.— particulai. item, count, specialty, 
individuality. 



96 



SYNONYMS AND ANTONYMS. 



DETAIL, V. — particularize, enumerate, specify. 
( Generalize. ) 

DETER — discourage, dissuade. (Encourage, incite. ) 

DETRI:MENT — damage, loss. (Benefit, improve- 
ment, betterment.) 

DEVELOP— unfold, expand, increase. (Extirpate.) 

DEVOID — wanting, destitute, bereft, denuded, bare, 
emptied, void. (Provided, supplied, furnished. ) 

DEVOTED — destined, consecrated, sworn to. 

[dictate — enjoin, order, prescribe, mark out. 

'DICTATORIAL — authoritative, imperative, over- 
j bearing, imperious, arbitrary, domineering. 

DIE — expire, perish, depart this life, cease. 

DIET — food, victuals, nourishment, aliment, board, 
sustenance, fare, viands, meal, repast, menu. 

DIFFER — vary, diverge, disagree, bicker, nag, 
split. (Accord, harmonize.) 

DIFFERENT — various, diverse, unlike. (Identical.) 

DIFFICULT — hard, tough, laborious, arduous, for- 
midable. ( Easy, facile, manageable, pliant. ) 

DIFFUSE — discursive, digressive, diluted. (Con- 
densed, concise, terse.) 

DIGNIFY — elevate, exalt, ennoble, honor, advance, 
promote. (Degrade, disgrace, demean, vulgarize.) 

DILATE — widen, extend, enlarge, expand, descant, 
expatiate. (Contract, narrow, compress, reduce.) 

DILATORY — slow, tardy, slow-paced, procrastina- 
ting, lagging, dawdling. (Prompt, peremptory, 
quick, instant.) 

DILIGENCE — aeal, ardor, assiduity, (Indolence.) 

DIMINISH — lessen, reduce, curtail, retrench, bate, 
abate, shorten, contract. (Increase, augment, 
aggrandize, enlarge.) 

DISABILITY— incapacity, unfitness. (Power. ) 

DISCERN — descry, perceive, distinguish, espy, scan, 
recognize, understand, discriminate. (Ignore.) 

DISCIPLINE — order, training, drill, schooling.) 
(Laxity, disorder, confusion, anarchy.) 

DISCOVER — detect, find, unveil, reveal, open, ex- 
pose, publish, disclose. (Cover, conceal, hide.) 

DISCREDITABLE — disreputable, reprehensible, 
blameworthy, shameful, scandalous, flagrant. 
(Exemplary, laudable, commendable.) 

DISCREET — prudent, politic, cautious, wary, 
guarded, judicious. (Reckless, heedless, rash, 
unadvised, foolhardy, precipitate.) 

DISCREPANCY — disagreement, discordance, incon- 
gruity, disparity, unfitness, clash, jar. (Concord, 
unison, harmony, congruity. ) 

DISCRIMINATION — distinction, differentiation, 
discernment, appreciation, acuteness, judgment, 
tact, nicety. (Confusion.) 

DISEASE — illness, sickness, ailment, indisposition, 
complaint, malady, disorder. (Health, sanity, 
soundness, robustness. ) 

DISGRACE, n. — stigma, reproach, brand, dishonor, 
shame, scandal, odium, infamy. (Honor.) 

DISGUST — distate, loathing, nausea, aversion, re- 
vulsion, al)horrence. (Predilection, partiaJiLy, iu- 
cliaatioaj bius.J 



DISHONEST— fraudulent, unfaii, tricky, unjust, 
(Straightforward, open, sincere, honest, fair, right, 
j ust impartial. ) 

DISMAY, V. — alarm, startle, scare, frighten, affright, 
terrify, astound, appal, daunt. (Assure, cheer.) 

DISMAY, n. — terror, dread, fear, fright. (Courage.) 

DISMISS — send off, discharge, disband. (Instal, 
retain, keep. ) 

DISPEL — scatter, disperse, dissipate, drive off, 
chase. (Collect, rally, summon, gather.) 

DISPLAY, V. — exhibit, show, parade. (Conceal.) 

DISPOSE — arrange, place, order, marshal, rank, 
group, assort, distribute, co-ordinate, collocate. 
(Derange, embroil, jumble, muddle, huddle.) 

DISPUTE, V, — discuss, debate, wrangle, controvert, 
contend. (Homologate, acquiesce in, assent to.) 

DISPUTE, n. — argument, controversy, contention, 
polemic. (Homologation, acquiesence. ) 

DISTINCT — separ?.te, detached. (Joined, involved. ) 

DISTINGUISH— perceive, separate. (Confound.) 

DISTINGUISHED— famous, noted, marked, emi- 
nent, celebrated, illustrious. (Obscure, mean.) 

DISTRACT — divert, disconcert, perplex, bewilder, 
fluster, dazzle. (Observe, study, note, mark.) 

DISTRIBUTE — disperse, disseminate, dispense, re- 
tail, apportion, consign, dole out. (Accumulate.) 

DISTURB — derange, displace, unsettle, trouble, vex, 
worry, annoy. (Compose, pacify, quiet, soothe.) 

DIVIDE — disjoin, part, separate, sunder, sever, 
cleave, split, rend, partition, distribute. (Con- 
stitute, unite.) 

DIVINE, fi.— God-like, holy, heavenly. (Devilish.) 

DIVINE, n. — clergyman, churchman, priest, pastor, 
shepherd, parson, minister. (Layman.) 

DO — effect, make, accomplish, transact, act. 

DOCILE— teachable, willing. (Refractory, stub- 
born, obstinate. ) 

DOCTRINE — teaching, lore, tenet, dogma, articles 
of faith, creed. (Ignorance, superstition.) 

DOLEFUL — woeful, dismal. (Joyous, merry.) 

DOOM, «, — sentence, fate, lot, destiny, decree. 

DOUBT — uncertainty, skepticism, hesitation. (Cer- 
tainty, faith.) 

DRAW — pull, attract, inhale, sketch, delineate. 

DREAD, 71. — fear, horror, alarm, terror, dismay, 
apprehension. (Confidence, fearlessness.) 

DREADFUL — fearful, alarming, formidable, por- 
tentous, direful, terrible, horrid, awful. (Mild, 
winsome, gentle. ) 

DRESS, n. — clothing, raiment, attire, apparel, 
clothes, trousseau. , (Nudity, nakedness.) 

DRIFT — tendency, direction, course, bearing, tenoi. 

DROLL — funny, laughable, grotesque, farcical, odd. 
(Dull, serious, solemn, grave.) 

DRY, a. — arid, parched, bald, flat, dull. (Aqueous, 
green, fresh, juicy, interesting. ) 

DUE — owing, indebted, just, fair, proper. 

DULL — heavy, sad, commonplace, gloomy, stupid, 
(Bright, gay, brilliant.) 



SYNONYMS AND ANTONYMS. 



9? 



DUNCK — blockhead, igtiommus, simpleton, donkey, 
ninny, dolt, booby, goose, dullard, numskull, dun- 
derpate, clodhopper. (Sage, genius, man of 
talent, wit.) 

DURABIyE) — abiding, lasting. (Evanescent.) 

DWEIvIv — stay, abide, sojourn, remain, tarry, stop. 
(Shift, wander, remove, tramp.) 

DWINDLE — pine, waste, shrink, shrivel, diminish. 

EAGER — keen, desirous, craving, ardent, impatient, 
intent, impetuous. (Loth, reluctant.) 

EARN — gain, win, acquire. (Lose, miss, forfeit.) 

EARNEST, «.— serious, resolved. (Trifling, giddy, 
irresolute, fickle.) 

EARNEST, n. — pledge, gage, deposit, caution. 

EASE, n. — content, rest, satisfaction, comfort, re- 
pose. (Worry, bother, friction, agitation, turmoil.) 

EASE, V. — calm, console, appease, assuage, alia}', 
mitigate. (Worry, fret, alarm, gall, harass.) 

EASY — ^light, comfortable, unconstrained. (Hard, 
difficult, embarrassed, constrained.) 

ECCENTRIC — wandering, irregular, peculiar, odd, 
unwonted, extraordinary, queer, nondescript. 
(Orderly, customary.) 

ECONOMICAL— frugal, thrifty, provident. (Squan- 
dering, wastefuL ) 

EDGE — verge, brink, brim, rim, skirt, hem. 

EFFECT, V. — produce, bring about, execute. 

EFFECTIVE— efficient, operative, powerful, effi- 
cacious, competent. (Impotent, incapable, in- 
competent, inefficient.) 

EFFICACY — efficiency, virtue, competence, agency, 
instrumentality. 

ELIMINATE — expel, weed, thin, decimate, exclude, 
bar, reject, repudiate, winnow, eject, cast out. 
(Include, comprehend, incorporate, embrace.) 

ELOQUENCE — oratory, rhetoric, declamation, fa- 
cundity, grandiloquence, fluency. (Mumbling, 
stammering. ) 

ELUCIDATE — clear up, unfold, simplify, explain, 
decipher, unravel, disentangle. (Darken, obscure. ) 

ELUDE — escape, avoid, shun, slip, disappear, shirk. 

EMBARRASS — perplex, entangle, involve, impede. 
(Relieve, unravel.) 

EMBELLISH— adorn, decorate, beautify. (Tar- 
nish, disfigure.) 

EMBOLDEN — animate, encourage, cheer, instigate, 
impel, urge, stimulate. (Discourage, dispirit, 
dampen, depress.) 

EMINENT — exalted, lofty, prominent, renowned, 
distinguished, famous, glorious, illustrious. (Base, 
obscure, low, unknown. ) 

EMIT — send out, despatch, spirt, publish, promul- 
gate, edit. (Reserve, conceal, hide.) 

EMOTION — feeling, sensation, pathos, nerve, ardor, 
agitation, excitement. (Apathy, frigidity, phlegm, 
nonchalance. ) 

EMPLOY — occupy, engage, utilize, exercise, turn 
to account, exploit, make use of. 

ENCOMPASS — encircle, surround, gird, beset. 

ENCOUNTER, z'.— meet, run against, clash. 
- C7-X) 



ENCOUNTER, «.— attack, conflict, assault, onset, 
engagement. 

END, n. — object, aim, result, purpose, conclusion, 
upshot, termination. (Beginning, motive.) 

ENDEAVOR, z/.— attempt, try, essay, strive. 

ENDURANCE— stay, stability, stamina, fortitude. 

ENDURE — sustain, bear, brook, undergo. 

ENEMY — foe, antagonist, adversary, opponent.\ 
(Friend, ally.) 

ENERGETIC — active, vigorous, sinewy, nervous, 
forcible. (Lazy, languid, inert, flabby, flaccid, 
slack, eflete. ) 

ENGAGE — occupy, busy, entice, captivate. 

ENGROSS— monopolize, absorb, take up. 

ENGULF — swallow up, drown, submerge, bury. 

ENJOIN — order, command, decree, ordain, direct, 
appoint, prescribe, bind, impose, stipulate. 

ENJOYMENT— pleasure, relish, zest. (Privation, 
grief, misery.) 

ENLARGE — expand, widen, augment, broaden, in- 
crease, extend. (Diminish, narrow, straighten.) 

ENLIGHTEN— illumine, instruct. (Darken, be- 
fog, mystify.) 

ENLIVEN — cheer, animate, exhilarate, brighten, 
incite, inspire. (Sadden, deaden, mortify.) 

ENMITY — hostility, hatred, antipathy, aversion, 
detestation. (Love, fondness, predilection.) 

ENORMOUS — huge, immense, vast, stupendous, 
monstrous, gigantic, colossal, elephantine. (Tiny, 
little, minute, puny, petty, diminutive, infinites- 
imal, dwarfish.) 

ENOUGH — sufficient, adequate. (Short, scrimp, 
insufficient. ) 

ENRAGED — infuriated, wrathful, wroth, rabid, mad, 
raging. (Pacified, calmed, lulled, assuaged. ) 

ENRAPTURE— captivate, fascinate, enchant, be- 
witch, ravish, transport, entrance. (Irritate, gall, 
shock, repel.) 

ENROLL — enlist, register, enter, record. 

ENTERPRISE— undertaking, endeavor, adven- 
ture, pursuit. 

ENTHUSIASM — ardor, zeal, glow, unction, fervor. 
(Coolness, indifference, apathy, nonchalance.) 

ENTHUSIAST — visionary, fanatic, devotee, zealot. 

EQUAL — even, level, co-ordinate, balanced, alike, 
equable, equitable. (Unequal, disproportionate.) 

ERADICATE— root out, extirpate. (Cherish. ) 

ERRONEOUS — fallacious, inaccurate, incorrect, 
untrue, false, inexact. (Accurate, just, right. ) 

ERROR — mistake, blunder, slip, delusion, fallacy, 
deception. (Truth, fact, verity, gospel, veracity.) 

ESPECIALLY — chiefly, particularly, peculiarly. 

ESSAY — endeavor, experiment, trial, attempt, ven- 
ture, dissertation, treatise, disquisition, tract. 

ESTABLISH— settle, fix, set, plant, pitch, lay down, 
confirm, authenticate, substantiate, verify. 

ESTEEM, ?2.— value, appreciation, honor, regard. 
(Contempt, depreciation, disparagement.) 

ESTIMATE, z^.- value, assess, rate, appiaise, gauge. 

ETERNAL— everlasting, perpetual, endless, immor- 
tal, infinite. (Finite, transitory, temporary.) 



I 



DS 



SYNONYMS AND ANTONYMS. 



F.VADK— avoid, shun, elude, dodge, parry. 
EVEN— plain, flat, level, smootii. (Uneven, rough, 

indented, protuberant. ) 
EVENT— occurrence, incident, affair, transaction, 

contingency. 
EVIL — ill, harm, mischief, disaster, bane, calamity, 

catastrophe. (Good, benefit, advantage, boon.) 
EXACT, a. — precise, literal, particular, correct. 
EXAMINATION— investigation, inquiry, search, 

research, scrutiny, exploration, test, sitting, trial. 
EXCEED — excel, outdo, transcend, surpass. 
EXCEPTIONAL — uncommon, unusual, rare, extra- 
ordinary. (General, ordinary, regular, normal. ) 
EXCITE — urge, rouse, stir, awaken. (Assuage, 

calm, still, tranquilize. ) 
EXCURSION— tour, trip, expedition, ramble. 
EXEMPT — free, absolved, cleared, discharged. 

(Implicated, included, bound, obliged.) 
EXERCISE, n. — operation, practice, office, action, 

performance. (Stagnation, rest, stoppage.) 
EXHAUSTIVE— complete, thorough, out-and-out. 
EXIGENCY — predicament, emergency, crisis, push, 

pass, turning point, conjecture. 
EXPRESS, z/.— utter, tell, declare, signify. 
EXTRAVAGANT — excessive, prodigal, profuse, 

wasteful, lavish, thriftless. (Penurious, stingy.) 

FABLE — parf.ble, tale, myth, romance^ 'Truth, 

fact, history, event, deed. ) 
FACE — aspect, visage, countenance. 
FACETIOUS— pleasant, jocular. (Serious.) 
FACTOR — manager, agent, officer. 
FAIL — fall short, be deficient. (Accomplish..; 
FAINT— feeble, languid. (Forcible.) 
FAIR— clear. (Stormy.) 

FAIR — equitable, honest, reasonable. (Unfair.) 
FAITH— creed. (Unbelief, infidelity.) 
FAITHFUL— true, loyal, constant. (Faithless.) 
FAITHLESS— pei-fidious, treacherous. ( Faithful. ) 
FALL — drop, droop, sink, tumble. (Rise.) 
FAME — renown, reputation. 
FAMOUS — celebrated, renowned. (Obscure.) 
FANCIFUL — capricious, fantastical, whimsical. 
FANCY — imagination. 

FAST — rapid, quick, fleet, expeditious. (vSlow. ) 
FATIGUE — weariness, lassitude. (Vigor.) 
FEAR — timidity, timorousness. (Bravery.) 
FEELING — .sensation, sense. 
FEELING— sensibility. (Insensibility. ) 
FEROCIOUS— fierce, savage, wild. (Mild.) 
FERTILE — fruitful, prolific, plenteous. (Sterile.) 
FICTION— falsehood, fabrication, ( Fact. ) 
FIGURE — allegory, emblem, metaphor, symbol, 

picture, type. 
FIND — descry, discover, espy. (Lose, overlook.) 
FINIv, a. — Iclicatc, nice. (Coar.se.) 
FINE, n. — forfeit, forfeiture, mulct, penalty. 
FiiUi — ^glow, heat, warmth, 



FIRM — constant, solid, steadfast, fixed. (Weak,) 

FIRST— foremost, chief, earliest. (Last.) 

FIT — accommodate, adapt, adjust, suit. 

FIX — determine, establish, settle, limit. 

FLAME— blaze, flare, flash, glare. 

FLAT— level, even. 

FLEXIBLE— pliant, pliable, ductile. (Inflexible.) 

FLOURISH— prosper, thrive. (Decay.) 

FLUCTUATING — wavering, hesitating, oscillating, 
vacillating, change. (Firm, steadfast, decided.) 

FLUENT — flowing, glib, voluble, unembarrassed, 
ready. (Hesitating.) 

FOLKS — persons, people, individuals. 

FOLLOW — succeed, ensue, imitate, copy, pursue. 

FOLLOWER — partisan, disciple, adherent, retainer, 
pursuer, successor. 

FOLLY — silliness, foolishness, imbecility, weak- 
ness. (Wisdom.) 

FOND — enamored, attached, affectionate. (Distant.) 

FONDNESS — affection, attachment, kindness, love.. 
(Aversion.) 

FOOLHARDY — venturesome, incautious, hasty, ad- 
venturous, rash. (Cautious.) 

FOOLISH — simple, silly, irrational, brainless, im- 
becile, crazy, absurd, preposterous, ridiculous, 
nonsensical. (Wise, discreet. ) 

FOP — dandy, dude, beau, coxcomb, puppy, jacka- 
napes. (Gentlemen.) 

FORBEAR— abstain, refrain, withhold. 

FORCE, n. — strength, vigor, dint, might, energy, 
power, violence, army, host. 

FORCE, V. — compel. (Persuade.) 

FORECAST— forethought, foresight, premeditation, 
prognostication. 

FOREGO — quit, relinquish, let go, waive. 

FOREGOING — antecedent, anterior, preceding, pre- 
vious, prior, former. 

FORERUNNER— herald, harbinger, precursor. 

FORESIGHT—forethought, forecast, premeditation. 

FORGE— coin, invent, frame, feign, fabricate. 

F'ORGIVE — pardon, remit, absolve, acquit, excuse. 

FORLORN — forsaken, abandoned, deserted, deso^ 
late, lone, lonesome. 

FORM, n. — ceremony, solemnity, observance, rite, 
figure, shape, conformation, fashion, appearance, 
representation, semblance. 

FORM, V. — make, create, produce^ constitute, ar- 
range, fashion, mould, shape. 

FORMAL — ceremonious, precise, exact, stiff, mts 
thodical, affected. (Informal, natural.) 

FORMER — antecedent, anterior, previous, prior., 
preceding, foregoing. 

FORSAKEN — abandoned, forlorn, icserted, deso- 
late, lone, lonesome. 

FORTHWITH— immediately, directly, instantly, 
instantaneously. (Anon.) 

FORTITUDE — endurance, resolution, fearlessness, 
dauntlessness. (Weakness.) 

FORTUNATE— lucky, happy, auspicious, successful, 
prosperous. (Unfortunate.} 



SYNONYMS AND ANTONYMS. 



99 



FORTUNE — chance, fate, luck, doom, possession, 
destiny, property, riches. 

FOSTER — cherish, nurse, tend, harbor. (Neglect.) 

FOUL — impure, nasty, filthy, dirty, unclean, defiled. 
(Pure, clean.) 

FRACTIOUS — cross, captious, petulent, splenetic, 
touchy, testy, peevish, fretful. (Tractable.) 

FRAGIIvB— brittle, frail, delicate, feeble. (Strong.) 

FRAGMENTS — pieces, scraps, leavings, remnants, 
chips, remains. 

FRAILTY — weakness, failing, foible, imperfection, 
fault, blemish. (Strength.) 

FRAME, V. — construct, invent, coin, fabricate, feign, 
forge, mold, make, compose. 

FRANCHISE — right, exemption, immunity, privi- 
lege, freedom, suffi-age. 

FRANK — artless, candid, sincere, free, easy, open, 
familiar, ingenious, plain. (Tricky, insincere. ) 

FRANTIC — distracted, furious, raving, frenzied, 
mad. (Quiet, subdued. ) 

FRAUD — deceit, deception, duplicity, guile, cheat, 
imposition. ( Honesty. ) 

Freak — fancy, humor, vagary, whim, caprice, 
crochet. (Purpose, resolution. ) 

FREE, a. — ^liberal, generous, bountiful, bounteous, 
munificent, frank, artless, candid, familiar, open, 
independent, unconfined, unreserved, unrestricted, 
exempt, clear, loose, easy, careless. (Slavish, 
stingy, artful, costly.) 

FREE, V. — release, set free, deliver, rescue, liberate, 
enfranchise, affranchise, emancipate, exempt. 
(Enslave, bind.) 

FREEDOM — liberty, independence, unrestraint, 
familiarity, franchise, exemption. (Slavery.) 

FREQUENT — often, common, general. (Rare.) 

FRET — ^gall, chafe, agitate, irritate, vex. 

FRIENDLY — amicable, social, sociable. (Distant, 
reserved, cool. ) 

FRIGHTFUL— fearful, dreadful, dire, direful, awful, 
terrific, horrible, horrid. 

FRIVOLOUS— trifling, trivial, petty. ( Serious. ) 

FRUGAL — provident, economical, saving. (Waste- 
ful, extravagant.) 

FRUITFUL — fertile, prolific, productive, abundant, 
plentiful, plenteous. (Barren, sterile.) 

FRUITLESS — vain, useless, idle, bootless, unavail- 
ing, without avail. 

I RUSTR ATE— defeat, foil, balk, disappoint. 

FULFILL — accomplish, effect, complete. 

FULLY — completely, abundantly, perfectly. 

FULSOME — coarse, gross, sickening, offensive, 
rank. (Moderate.) 

FURIOUS — violent, boisterous, vehement, dashing, 
sweeping, rolling, impetuous, frai 4c, distracted, 
stormy, angry, raging, fierce. (Calm.) 

FUTILE— trifling, trivial, frivolus. (Effective.) 

GAIN, n — profit, emolument, advantage, benefit, 

winnings, earnings. (Loss.) 
GAIN, V. — get, acquire, obtain, attain, procure, 

earn, win, achieve, reap, realize, reach. (Lose.) 

LofC. 



GALLANT — brave, bold, courageous, gay, showy, 
fine, intrepid, fearless, heroic. 

GALLING — chafing, irritating. (Soothing.) 

GAME — play, pastime, diversion, amusement. 

GANG — band, horde, company, troop, crew. 

GAP — breach, chasm, hollow, cavity, cleft, device, 
rift, chink. 

GARNISH — embellish, adorn, beautify, decorate. 

GATHER — pick, cull, assemble, muster, infer, col- 
lect. (Scatter.) 

GAUDY — showy, flashy, tawdry, gay, glittering, be- 
spangled. (Sombre.) 

GAUNT — emaciated, scraggy, skinny, meagre, lank, 
attenuated, spare, lean, thin. (Well-fed.) 

GAY — cheerful, merry, lively, jolly, sprightly, 
blithe. (Solemn.) 

GENERATE— form, make, beget, produce. 

GENERATION— formation, race, breed, stock, 
kind, age, era. 

GENEROUS— beneficent, noble, honorable, bounti- 
ful, li' eral, free. (Niggardly.) 

GENIAL — cordial, hearty, festive. (Distant, cold.) 

GE1"'IUS — intellect, invention, talent, taste, nature, 
character, adept. 

GENTEEL — refined, polished, fashionable, polite, 
well-bred. ( Boorish. ) 

GENTLE — placid, mild, bland, meek, tame, docile, 
(Rougn, uncouth,) 

GENUINE— real, true, unaffected. (False.) 

GESTURE— attitude, action, posture. 

GET — obtain, earn, gain, attain, procure, achieve. 

GHASTLY — pallid, wan, hideous, grim, shocking. 

GHOST — spectre, sprite, apparition, phantom. 

GIBE — scoff, sneer, flout, jeer, mock, taunt, deride. 

GIDDY — unsteady, thoughtless. (Steady.) 

GIFT — donation, benefaction, grant, alms, gratuity, 
boon, present, faculty, talent. (Purchase.) 

GIGANTIC — colossal, huge, enormous, prodigious, 
vast, immense. (Diminutive.) 

GIVE — ^grant, bestow, confer, yield, impart. 

GLAD — pleased, cheerful, joyful, gladsome, cheer- 
ing, gratified. (Sad.) 

GLEAM — glimmer, glance, glitter, shine, flash. 

GLEE — gayety, merriment, mirth, joviality, joy» 
hilarity. (Sorrow.) 

GLIDE — slip, slide, run, roll on. 

GLIMMER, z/.— gleam, flicker, glitter. 

GLIMPSE— glance, look, glint. 

GLITTER— gleam, shine, glisten, glister, radiate. 

GLOOM— cloud, darkness, dimness, blackness, dull, 
ness, sadness. (Light, brightness, joy.) 

GLOOMY— lowering, lurid, dim, dusky, sad, gium. 
(Bright, clear.) 

GLORIFY— magnify, celebrate, adore, exalt 

GLORIOUS— famous, renowned, distinguished, ti^ 
alted, noble. (Infamous.) 

GLORY— honor, fame, renown, splendor, grandeur. 
( Infamy. ) 

GLUT— gorge, stuff, cram, cloy, satiate, block up. 



100 



SYNONYMS AND ANTONYMS. 



GO — depart, proceed, move, budge, stir. 

GOD — Creator, Lord, Almighty, Jehovah, Omnipo- 
tence, Providence. 

GODLY — righteous, devout, holy, pious, religious. 
GOOD — benefit, weal, advantage, profit. (Evil.) 
GOOD, a. — virtuous, righteous, upright, just, true. 

(Wicked, bad.) 
GORGE, glut, fill, cram, stuff, satiate. 
GORGEOUS — superb, grand, magnificent, splendid. 

(Plain, simple.) 
GOVERN — rule, direct, manage, command. 
GOVERNMENT— rule, state, control, sway. 
GRACEFUL — becoming, comely, elegant, beautiful. 

(Awkward.) 
GRACIOUS— merciful, kindly, beneficent. 
GRADUAL — slow, progressive. (Sudden.) 
GRAND — majestic, stately, dignified, lofty, elevated, 

exalted, splendid, gorgeous, superb, magnificent, 

sublime, pompous. (Shabby.) 
GRANT — bestow, impart, give, yield, cede, allow, 

confer, invest. 
GRANT — gift, boon, donation. 

GRAPHIC — forcible, telling, picturesque, pictorial. 
GRASP — catch, seize, gripe, clasp, grapple. 
GRATEFUL — agreeable, pleasing, welcome, thank- 
ful. (Harsh.) 
GRATIFICATION— enjoyment, pleasure, delight, 

reward. (Disappointment.) 
GRAVE, a. — serious, sedate, solemn, sober, pressing, 

heavy. ( Giddy. ) 
GRAVE, n. — tomb, sepulchre, vault. 
GREAT — big, huge, large, majestic, vast, grand, 

noble, august. (Small.) 
GREEDINESS — avidity, eagerness. (Generosity.) 
GRIEF — affliction, sorrow, trial, tribulation. (Joy.) 
GRIEVE — mourn, lament, sorrow, pain, wound, 

hurt, bewail. (Rejoice.) 
GRIEVOUS — painful, afflicting, heavy, unhappy. 
GRIND — crush, oppress, grate, harass, afflict. 
GRISLY— terrible, hideous, grim, ghastly, dreadful. 

( Pleasing. ) 
GROvSS — coarse, outrageous, unseemly, shameful, 

indelicate. (Delicate.) 
GROUP — assembly, cluster, collection, clump, order. 
GROVEL — crawl, cringe, fawn, sneak. 
GROW— increase, vegetate, expand, advance. (De- 
cay, diminution,) 
GROWL — grumble, snarl, murmur, complain. 
GRUDGE — malice, rancor, spite, pique, hatred. 
GRUFF — rough, rugged, blunt, rude, harsh, surly, 

bearish. (Pleasant.) 
GUILE— deceit, fraud. (Candor.) 
GUILTLESS— harmless, innocent. 
GUILTY — culpable, sinful, criminal. 

HABIT — custom, practice. 

HAIL — accost, address, greet, salute, welcome. 
HAPPINESS— beatitude, blessedness, bliss, felicity. 
(Unhappiness.) 



HARBOR— haven, port. 

HARD— firm, solid. (Soft.) 

HARD— arduous, difficult. (Easy.) 

HARM — injury, hurt, wrong, infliction. (Benefit.) 

HARMLESS — safe, innocuous, innocent. (Hurtful.) 

HARSH — rough, rigorous, severe, gruflf. (Gentle.) 

HASTEN — accelerate, dispatch, expedite. (Delay.) 

HASTY— hurried, ill-advised. (Deliberate.) 

HATEFUI^-odious, detestable. (Lovable. ) 

HATRED— enmity, ill-will, rancor. (Friendship.) 

HAUGHTINESS— arrogance, pride. (Modesty.) 

HAUGHTY — arrogant, disdainful, supercilious. 

HAZARD— risk, venture. 

HEALTHY— salubrious, salutary. (Unhealthy.) 

HEAP — accumulate, amass, pile. 

HEARTY — cordial, sincere, warm. (Insincere.) 

HEAVY — burdensome, ponderous. (Light.) 

HEED— care, attention. 

HEIGHTEN — enhance, exalt, elevate, raise. 

HEINOUS— atrocious, flagrant. (Venial.) 

HELP — aid, assist, relieve, succor. (Hinder.) 

HERETIC — sectary, sectarian, schismatic, dissentei^ 

non-conformist. 
HESITATE— falter, stammer, stutter. 
HIDEOUS— grim, ghastly, grisly. (Beautiful.) 
HIGH— lofty, tall, elevated. (Deep.) 
HINDER — impede, obstruct, prevent, (Help.) 
HINT — allude, refer, suggest, intimate, insinuate. 
HOLD — detain, keep, retain. 
HOLINESS — sanctity, piety, sacredness. 
HOLY — devout, pious, religious. 
HOMELY — plain, ugly, coarse. (Beautiful.) 
HONESTY— integrity, probity, uprightness. (Dis- 
honesty. ) 
HONOR, V. — respect, reverence. (Dishonor.) 
HOPE — confidence, expectation, trust. 
HOPELESS— desperate. 
HOT— ardent, burning, fiery. ( Cold. ) 
HOWEVER — nevertheless, notwithstanding, yet. 
HUMBLE — modest, submissive, plain, unostenta- 
tious, simple. (Haughty.) 
HUMBLE — degrade, humiliate, mortify. (Exalt.) 
HUMOR — mood, temper. 
HUNT— seek, chase. 

HURTFUL — noxious, pernicious. (Beneficial.) 
HUSBANDRY— cultivation, tillage. 
HYPOCRITE— dissembler, imposter, canter. 4 

HYPOTHESIS— theory, supposition. ,• 

IDEA — thought, imagination. 

IDEAL — imaginary, fancied. (Actual.) 

IDLE — indolent, lazy. (Industrious.) 

IGNOMINIOUS — shameful, scandalous, infamous. 

(Honorable.) 
IGNOMINY — shame, disgrace, obloquy, reproach. 
IGNORANT — unlearned, illiterate, uninformed. 

uneducated. (Knowing. ) 




PLEASING ENTRANCE IN A SPIRITED DIAI.OGUE 




. C^ ICAOO 

SONG OF THE FLOWER GIRL, 



I 



SYNONYMS AND ANTONYMS. 



101 



miscliief, 

(Well.) 
acrimonious, 



IIvIv, n. — evil, wickedness, misfortune^ 
harm. (Good.) 

IIvL, a. — sick, indisposed, diseased. 

IIvIy-TBMFBRBD— crabbed, sou 
surly. ( Good-natured. ) 

IlyL-WILIv — enmity, antipathy. (Good-will.) 
Il/LEGAL — unlawful, illicit, contraband, illegiti- 
^ J mate. (I^egal.) 

IIvLIMITABIvB— boundless, immeasurable, infinite. 

ILIvlTBRATB— unlettered, unlearned, untaught, 
uninstructed. (L/earned, educated.) 

ILLUSION — fallacy, deception, phantasm. 

ILLUSORY — imaginary, chimerical. (Real.) 

ILLUSTRATB— explain, elucidate, clear. 

ILLUSTRIOUS — celebrated, noble, eminent, famous, 
renowned. (Obscure.) 

IMAGB — likeness, picture, representation, effigy. 

IMAGINARY— ideal, fanciful, illusory. (Real.) 

IMAGINB — conceive, fancy, apprehend, think. 

IMBBCILITY— silliness, senility, dotage. 

IMITATB — copy, ape, mimic, mock, counterfeit. 

IMMACULATE — unspotted, spotless, unsullied, 
stainless. (Soiled.) 

IMMEDIATE — pressing, instant, next, proximate. 

IMMEDIATELY— instantly, forthwith, directly. 

IMMENSE — vast, enormous, huge, prodigious. 

IMMUNITY — privilege, prerogative, exemption. 

IMPAIR — injure, diminish, decrease. 

IMPART — reveal, divulge, disclose, discover, afford. 

IMPARTIAL— just, equitable, unbiased. (Partial.) 

IMPASSIONED— glowing, burning, fiery, intense. 

IMPEACH — accuse, charge, arraign, censure. 

IMPEDE— hinder, retard, obstruct. (Help.) 

IMPEDIMENT— obstruction, hindrance, obstacle, 
barrier. (Aid. ) 

IMPEL — animate, induce, incite, instigate, em- 
bolden. (Retard.) 

IMPENDING— imminent, threatening. 

IMPERATIVE— commanding, authoritative. 

IMPERFECTION— fault, blemish, defect, vice. 

IMPERIL — endanger, hazard, jeopardize. 

IMPERIOUS — commanding, dictatorial, imperative, 
authoritative, lordly, overbearing, domineering. 

IMPERTINENT— intrusive, meddling, officious, 
rude, saucy, impudent, insolent. 

IMPETUOUS— violent, boisterous, furious, vehe- 
ment. (Calm.) 

IMPIOUS — profane, irreligious. (Reverent.) 
IMPLICATE — involve, entangle, embarrass. 

IMPLY — involve, comprise, infold, import, denote. 
^IMPORTANCE — signification, significance, avail, 
i consequence, weight, gravity, moment. 
IMPOSING — impressive, striking, majestic, august, 

noble, grand. (Insignificant.) 
IMPOTENCE — weakness, incapacity, infirmity, 
fraility, feebleness. (Power.) 

IMPOTENT — weak, feeble, helpless, enfeebled, 
tierveless, infirm. (Strong.) 



IMPRESSIVE— stirring, forcible, exciting, moving. 

IMPRISON — incarcerated, shut up, immure, con- 
fine. (Liberate.) 

IMPRISONMENT— captivity, durance. 
IMPROVE — amend, better, mend, reform, rectify, 

ameliorate, apply, use, employ. (Deteriorate.) 
IMPROVIDENT— careless, incautious, imprudent, 

prodigal, wasteful, reckless, rash. (Thrifty.) 
IMPUDENCE— assurance, impertinence, confidence, 

insolence, rudeness. 

IMPUDENT— saucy, brazen, bold, impertinent, 
forward, rude, insolent, immodest, shameless. 

IMPULSE — incentive, incitement, instigation. 

IMPULSIVE— rash, hasty, forcible. (Deliberate.) 

IMPUTATION — blame, censure, reproach, charge. 

INADVERTENCY— error, oversight, blunder, in- 
attention, carelessness, negligence. 

INCENTIVE— motive, inducement, impulse. 

INCITE — instigate, excite, provoke, stimulate, urge, 
encourage, impel. 

INCLINATION— leaning, slope, disposition, bent, 
tendency, bias, affection, attachment, wish, liking, 
desire. (Aversion.) 

INCLINE, z/. —slope, lean, slant, tend, bend, turn, 
bias, dispose. 

INCLOSE — surround, shut in, fence in, cover, wrap. 

INCLUDE — comprehend, comprise, contain, take 
in, embrace. 

INCOMMODE— annoy, plague, molest, disturb, 
inconvenience, trouble. (Accommodate.) 

INCOMPETENT— incapable, unable, inadequate. 

INCREASE, V. — extend, enlarge, augment, dilate, 
expand, amplify, raise, enhance, aggravate, mag- 
nify, grow. (Diminish.) 

INCREASE, n. — augmentation, accession, addition, 
enlargement, extension. (Decrease.) 

INCUMBENT— obHgatory. 

INDEFINITE — vague, uncertain, unsettled, loose, 
lax. (Definite.) 

INDICATE— point out, show, mark. 

INDIFFERENCE — apathy, carelessness, listless- 
ness, insensibility. (Application, assiduity.) 

INDIGENCE — want, neediness, penury, poverty, 
destitution, privation. (Affluence.) 

INDIGNATION — anger, wrath, ire, resentment. 

INDIGNITY — insult, affiront, outrage, opprobrium, 
obloquy, reproach, ignominy. (Honor.) 

INDISCRIMINATE — promiscuous, chance, indis- 
tinct, confused. (Select, chosen.) 

INDISPENSABLE — essential, necessary, requisite, 
expedient. (Unnecessary, supernumerary.) 

INDISPUTABLE — undeniable, undoubted, incon- 
testable, indubitable, unquestionable, infallible. 

INDORSE— ratify, confirm, superscribe. 

INDULGE— foster, cherish, fondle. (Deny.) 

INEFFECTUAL — vain, useless, unavailing, fruit* 
less, abortive, inoperative. (Effective.) 

INEQUALITY— disparity, disproportion, dissimi* 
larity, unevenness. (Equality.) 

INBVITABIyE— unavoidable, not to be avoidedr 



102 



SYNONYMS AND ANTONYMS. 



INFAMOUS— scandalous, shameful, ignominious, 
opprobrious, disgraceful. (Honorable.) 

INFERENCE— deduction, corollary, conclusion. 

INFERNAL — diabolical, fiendish, devilish, hellish. 

INFEST— annoy, plague, harass, disturb. 

INFIRM— week, feeble, enfeebled. (Robust.) 

INFLAME— anger, irritate, enrage, chafe, incense, 
nettle, aggravate, embitter, exasperate. (Allay.) 

INFLUENCE, z/.- bias, sway, prejudice, preposess. 

INFLUENCE, «.— credit, favor, reputation, weight, 
character, authority, sway, ascendency. 

INFRINGE — invade, intrude, contravene, break, 
transgress, violate. 

INGENUOUS — artless, candid, generous, sincere, 
open, frank, plain. (Crafty.) 

INHUMAN — cruel, brutal, savage, barbarous, ruth- 
less, merciless, ferocious. (Humane.) 

INIQUITY— injustice, wrong, grievance. 

INJURE — damage, hurt, deteriorate, wrong, spoil, 
aggrieve, harm, mar, sully. (Benefit.) 

INJURIOUS — hurtful, baneful, pernicious, deleteri- 
ous, noxious, prejudicial, wrongful. (Beneficial.) 

INJUSTICE— wrong, iniquity, grievance. (Right. ) 

INNOCENT— guiltless, sinless, harmless, inoffen- 
sive, innoxious. (Guilty.) 

INNOCUOUS— harmless, safe, innocent. (Hurtful.) 

INORDINATE — intemperate, irregular, disorderly, 
excessive, immoderate. (Moderate.) 

INQUIRY — investigation, examination, research, 
scrutin}^, disquisition, question, interrogation. 

INQUISITIVE — prying, peeping, curious, peering. 

INSANE — deranged, delirous, demented. (Sane.) 

INSANITY — madness, mental aberration, lunacy, 
delirium. (Sanity. ) 

INSINUATE — hint, intimate, suggest, infuse, intro- 
duce, ingratiate. 

INSIPID — dull, flat, mawkish, tasteless, inanimate, 
vapid, lifeless. (Bright, sparkling.) 

INSOLENT — rude, saucy, impertinent, abusive, pert, 
scurrilous, opprobrious, insulting, offensive. 

INSPIRE — animate, exhilarate, enliven, breathe, 
cheer, inhale. 

INvSTABILlTY— mutability, fickleness, mutableness, 
wavering. (Stability, firmness.) 

INvSTlGATE — stir up, persuade, animate, stimulate, 

incite, urge, encourage. 
INSTIL— implant, inculcate, infuse, insinuate. 
INSTRUCT— inform, teach, educate, enlighten. 
INSTRUMENTAL — conducive, assistant, helping. 
INSUFFICIENCY — incompetency, incapability, 

inadequacy, deficiency, lack. 
INSULT — affront, outrage, indignity. (Honor.) 
INSULTING — insolent, impertinent, abusive, rude. 
INTEGRITY — uprightness, honesty, completeness, 

probity, entirety, entireness, purity. (Dishonesty.) 
INTELLECT — understanding, sense, brains, mind, 

intelligence, ability, talent, genius. (Body.) 
INTELLECTUAL -mental, metaphysical. ( Brutal. ) 
INTELLIGIBI,^— clear, obvious, plain. (Abstruse.) 



INTEMPERATE — immoderate, excessive, drunken, 
nimious, inordinate. (Temperate.) 

INTENSE — ardent, earnest, glowing, fervid, burn- 
ing, vehement. 

INTENT — design, purpose, intention, drift, view, 
aim, purport, meaning. 

INTERCOURSE — commerce, connection, intimacy. 

INTERDICT— forbid, prohibit, inhibit, proscribe 
debar, restrain from. (Allow.) 

INTERFERE— meddle, intermeddle, interpose. 

INTERMINABLE— endless, interminate, infinite, 
unlimited, illimitable, boundless. (Brief.) 

INTERPOSE— intercede, arbitrate, mediate, inter- 
fere, meddle. 

IMTERPRET— explain, expound, elucidate, unfold. 

INTIMATE — hint, suggest, insinuate, express, tell, 
signify, impart. 

INTIMIDATE — dishearten, alarm, frighten, scare, 
appal, daunt, cow, browbeat. (Encourage.) 

INTOLERABLE— insufferable, unbearable, insup- 
portable, unendurable. 

INTREPID— bold, brave, daring, fearless, daunt- 
less, undaunted, courageous, valorous, valiant, 
heroic, gallant, chivalrous, doughty. (Cowardly, 
faint-hearted.) 

INTRIGUE — plot, cabal, conspiracy, combination, 
artifice, ruse, amour. 

INTRINSIC — real, true, genuine, sterling, native, 
natural. ( Extrinsic. ) 

INVALIDATE — quash, cancel, overthrow, vacate, 
nullify, annul. 

INVASION — incursion, irruption, inroad, aggres- 
sion, raid, fray. 

INVECTIVE — abuse, reproach, railing, censure, 
sarcasm, satire. 

INVENT — devise, contrive, frame, find out, discover. 

INVESTIGATION — examination, search, inquiry, 
research, scrutiny. 

INVETERATE — confirmed, chronic, malignant. 
(Inchoate.) 

INVIDIOUS — envious, hateful, odious, malignant. 

INVIGORATE— brace, harden, nerve, strengthen, 
fortify. ( Enervate. ) 

INVINCIBLE — unconquerable, impregnable, insur- 
mountable. 

INVISIBLE — unseen, imperceptible, impalpable. 

INVITE — ask, call, bid, request, allure, attract. 

INVOKE — invocate, call upon, appeal, refer, im- 
plore, beseech. 

INVOLVE — implicate, entangle, compromise. 

IRKSOME — wearisome, tiresome, tedious, annoy- 
ing. (Pleasant.) 

IRONY — sarcasm, satire, ridicule, raillery. 

IRRATIONAL— foolish, silly, imbecile, brutish, 
absurd, ridiculous. (Rational.) 

IRREGULAR — eccentric, anomalous, inordinate, 
intemperate. (Regular.) 

IRRELIGIOUS — profane, godless, impious, sacri' 
legions, desecrating. 

IRREPROACHABLE— blameless, spotless. 

IRRESISTIBLE- resisUess, irrepressible 



SYNONYMS AND ANTONYMS. 



103 



IRRESOLUTE — wavering, undetermined, unde- 
cided, vacillating ( Determined. ) 

IRRITABIvE — excitable, irascible, susceptible, sensi- 
tive. (Calm.) 

IRRITATE — aggravate, worry, embitter, madden. 

ISSUE, V. — emerge, rise, proceed, flow, spring. 

ISSUE, n. — end, upshot, effect, result, offspring. 

JADE — harass, weary, tire, worry. 

JANGIvE — wrangle, conflict, disagree. 

JARRING — conflicting, discordant, inconsonant. 

JAUNT — ramble, excursion, trip. 

JEALOUSY — suspicion, envy. 

JEOPARD — hazard, peril, endanger. 

JEST — joke, sport, divert, make game of. 

JOURNEY — travel, tour, passage. 

JOY — gladness, mirth, delight. ( Grief ) 

JUDGE — justice, referee, arbitrator. 

JOYFUL — glad, rejoicing, exultant. (Mournful.) 

JUDGMENT — discernment, discrimination. 

JUSTICE — equity, right. Justice is right as estab- 
lished by law ; equity according to the circum- 
stances of each particular case. (Injustice.) 

JUSTNESS — accuracy, correctness, precision. 

KEEP — preserve, save. (Abandon.) 

KILL — assassinate, murder, slay. 

KINDRED — affinity, consanguinity, relationship. 

KNOWLEDGE — erudition, learning. (Ignorance.) 

LABOR — toil, work, effort, drudgery. (Idleness.) 
LACK — need, deficiency, scarcity, insufSciencv. 

(Plenty.) 
LAMENT — mourn, grieve, weep. (Rejoice.) 
LANGUAGE — dialect, idiom, speech, tongue. 
LASCIVIOUS— loose, • unchaste, lu-^tful, lewd, lech- 
erous. (Chaste.) 
LAST— final, latest, ultimate. (First.) 
LAUDABLE— commendable. (Blamable.) 
LAUGHABLE — comical, droll, ludicrous, (Serious.) 
LAWFUL—legal, legitimate, licit. (Illegal.) 
LEAD — conduct, guide. (Follow.) 
LEAN— meager. (Fat. ) 

LEARNED— erudite, scholarly. ( Ignorant. ) 
LEAVE, V. — quit, relinquish. 
LEAVE, n. — ^libert)', permission. (Prohibition.) 
LIFE — existence, animation, spirit. (Death.) 
LIFELESS— dead, inanimate. 
LIFT — erect, elevate, exalt, raise. (Lower.) 
LIGHT— clear, bright. (Dark.) 
LIGHTNESS— flightiness, giddiness, levity, volatil- 
ity. ( Seriousness. ) 
LIKENESS — resemblance, similarity. (Unlikeness. ) 
LINGER — lag, loiter, tarry, saunter. (Hasten.) 
LITTLE— diminutive, small. (Great.) 
LIVELIHOOD — living, maintenance, subsistence. 
LIVELY — ^jocund, merry, sportive, sprightly, viva- 
cious. (Slow, languid, sluggish.) 

XfONG — extended, extensive. (Short.) 



LOOK — appear, seem, asped:, glance, peep. 

LOSE— miss, forfeit. ( Gain . ) 

LOSS — detriment, damage, deprivation. (Gain.) 

LOUD — clamorous, high-sounding, noisy. (Low. 
quiet. ) 

LOVE— affection. ( Hatred. ) 

LOW — abject, mean. (Noble.) ( 

LUNACY— derangement, insanity, mania, madnesi 

(Sanity.) 

LUSTER — brightness, brilliancy, splendor. 
LUXURIANT— exuberant. (Sparse.) 

MACHINATION— plot, intrigue, cabal, conspiracy. 
(Artlessness. ) 

MAD — crazy, delirious, insane, rabid, violent, frantic. 
(Sane, rational, quiet.) 

MADNESS — insanity, fury, rage, frenzy. 

MAGISTERIAL— august, dignified, majestic, pomp- 
ous, stately. 

MAKE — form, create, produce. (Destroy.) 

IJ^ALEDICTION — anathema, curse, imprecation. 

MALEVOLENT — malicious, virulent, malignant. 
(Benevolent. ) 

MALICE — spite, rancor, ill-feeling, grudge, ani- 
mosity, ill-will. (Benignity.) 

MALICIOUS— see malevolent. 

MANACLE, z/.— shackle, fetter, chain. (Free. ) 

MANAGE — contrive, concert, direct. 

MANAGEMENT — direction, superintendence, care. 

MANGLE — tear, lacerate, mutilate, cripple, maim. 

MANIA — madness, insanity, lunacy. 

MANIFEST, V. — reveal, prove, evince, exhibit, dis- 
play, show. 

MANIFEST, a. — clear, plain, evident, open, appar- 
ent, visible. (Hidden, occult.) 

MANIFOLD — several, sundry, various, divers. 

MANLY — masculine, vigorous, courageous, brave, 
heroic. (Effeminate.) 

MANNER — habit, custom, way, air, look. 

MANNERS — morals, habits, behavior, carriage. 

MAR — spoil, ruin, disfigure. (Improve.) 

MARCH — tramp, tread, walk, step, space. 

MARGIN — edge, rim, border, brink, verge. 

MARK, n. — sign, note, symptom, token, indication, 
trace, vestige, track, badge, brand. 

MARK, V. — impress, print, stamp, engrave, note. 

MARRIAGE — wedding, nuptials, matrimony. 

MARTIAL — military, warlike, soldierlike, 

MARVEL — wonderful, miracle, prodigy. 

MARVELOUS — wondrous, wonderful, miraculous.' 

MASSIVE — bulky, heavy, weighty, ponderous, 
solid, substantial. (Flimsy.) 

MASTERY — dominion, rule, sway, ascendancy. 

MATCHLESS— unrivaled, unequal ed, unparalleled, 
peerless, incomparable, inimitable, surpassing. 
(Common, ordinary.) 

MATERIAL, «.— corporeal, bodily, physical, tem- 
poral, momentous, (Spiritual, immaterial.) 



104 



SYNONYMS AND ANTONYMS. 



MAXIM— adage, apothegm, proverb, saying, by- 
word, saw. 
MEAGER — poor, lank, emaciated, barren, dry, un- 
interesting. (Rich.) 
MEAN, a. — stingy, niggardly, low, abject, vile, 
ignoble, degraded, contemptible, vulgar, despic- 
able. (Generous.) 
MEAN, V. — design, purpose, intend, contemplate, 

signify, denote, indicate. 
MEANING — signification, import, acceptation, 

sense, purport. 
MEDIUM — organ, channel, instrument, means, 
MEDLEY — mixture, variety, diversity, miscellany. 
MEEK — unassuming, mild, gentle. ( Proud. ) 
MELANCHOLY — low-spirited, dispirited, dreamy, 
sad. (Jolly, buoyant.) 
' MELLOW — ripe, mature, soft. (Immature.) 
MELODIOUS— tuneful, musical, silver, dulcet, 

sweet. ( Discordant. ) 
MEMORABLE — signal, distinguished, marked. 
MEMORIAL — monument, memento. 
MEMORY — remembrance, recollection. ^ 

MENACE, «.— threat. 
MEND — repair, amend, correct, better, ameliorate, 

improve, rectify. 
MENTION — tell, name, communicate, impart, di- 
vulge, reveal, disclose, inform, acquaint. 
MERCIFUL — compassionate, lenient, clement, 

tender, gracious, kind. (Cruel. ) 
MERCILESS — hard-hearted, cruel, unmerciful, piti- 
less, remorseless, unrelenting. (Kind. ) 
MERRIMENT— mirth, joviality, jollity. (Sorrow.) 
MERRY — cheerful, mirthful, joyous, gay, lively, 
sprightly, hilarious, blithe, blithesome, jovial, 
sportive, jolly. (Sad.) 
METAPHORICAL — figurative, allegorical. 
METHOD — way, manner, mode, process, order, 

rule, regularity, system. 
MIEN — air, look, manner, aspect, appearence. 
MIGRATORY — roving, strolling, wandering, va- 
grant. (Settled, sedate, permanent.) 
MIMIC — imitate, ape, mock. 
MINDFUL — observant, attentive. (Heedless.) 
MISCELLANEOUS — promicuous, indiscriminate. 
MISCHIEF — injury, harm, damage, hurt. (Benefit.) 
MISCREANT— caitiff, villain, ruffian. 
MISERABLE— unhappy, wretched, distressed, af- 
flicted. (Happy.) 
MISERLY — stingy, niggardly, avaricious, griping. 
MISERY — wretchedness, woe, destitution, penury, 

privation, beggary. (Happiness. ) 
MISFORTUNE — calamity, disaster, mishap, catas- 
trophe. (Good luck.) 
MISS— omit, lose, fall, miscarry. 
MITIGATE — alleviate, relieve, abate. (Aggravate. ) 
MODERATE — temperate, abstemious, sober, absti- 
nent. (Immoderate.) 
MODEST — chaste, virtuous, bashful. (Immodest.) 
MOIST— wet, damp, dank, humid. (Dry.) 
MONOTONOUS— unvaried, tiresome. (Varied.) 



MONSTROUS— shocking, dreadful, horrible, huge. 

MONUMENT — memorial, record, remembrancer. 

MOOD — humor, disposition, vein, temper. 

MORBID — sick, ailing, sickly, diseased, corrupted. 
(Normal, sound.) 

MOROSE— gloomy, sullen, surly, fretful, crabbed. 
crusty. (Joyous. ) 

MORTAL— deadly, fatal, human. 
MOTION — proposition, proposal, movement. 
MOTIONLESS— still, stationary, torpid, stagnant 

(Active, moving.) 
MOUNT — arise, rise, ascend, soar, tower, climb. 
MOURNFUL — sad, sorrowful, lugubrious, grievous, 

doleful, heavy, (Happy.) 
MOVE — actuate, impel, induce, prompt, instigate, 

persuade, stir, agitate, propel, push. 
MULTITUDE — crowd, throng, host, mob, swarm. 
MURDER, z>. — ^kill, assassinate, slay, massacre. 
MUSE, z'. — meditate, contemplate, think, reflect, 

cogitate, ponder. 
MUSIC — harmony, melody, symphony. 
MUSICAL — tuneful, melodious, harmonious, sweet. 
MUSTY— stale, sour, fetid. (Fresh, sweet.) 
MUTE— dumb, silent, speechless. 
MUTILATE — maim, cripple, disable, disfigure, 
MUTINOUS — insurgent, seditious, tumultuous, tur' 

bulent, riotous. (Obedient, orderly.) 
MUTUAL — reciprocal, interchanged, correlative. 

(Sole, solitary.) 
MYSTERIOUS— dark, obscure, hidden, secret, dim, 

mystic, enigmatical, unaccountable. (Open, clear, i 
MYSTIFY — confuse, perplex. (Clear, explain.) 

NAKED — nude, bare, uncovered, unclothed, rough, 
rude, simple. (Covered, clad.) 

NAME, V. — denominate, entitle, style, designate, 
term, call, christen. 

NAME, n. — appellation, designation, denomination, 
title, cognomen, reputation, character, fame, 
credit, repute. 

NARRATE — tell, relate, detail, recount, describe, 
enumerate, rehearse, recite. 

NASTY — filthy, foul, dirty, unclean, impure, gross, 
indecent, vile. 

NATION — people, community, realm, state. 

NATIVE — indigenous, inborn, vernacular. 

NATURAL — original, regular, normal, bastard. 
(Unnatural, forced.) 

NEAR — nigh, neighboring, close, adjacent, contig- 
uous, intimate. (Distant.) 

NECESSARY — needful, expedient, essential, indis- 
pensable, requisite. (Useless.) 

NECESSITATE— compel, force, oblige. 

NECESSITY — need, occasion, exigency, emergency, 
urgency, requisite. 

NEED, n. — necessity, distress, poverty, indigence, 
want, penury. 

NEED, V. — require, want, lack. 

NEGLECT, z/.— disregard, slight, omit, overlook. 



SYNONYMS AND ANTONYMS. 



105 



NBGI/ECT, «.— omission, failure, default, slight, 

negligence, remisness, carelessness. 
NEIGHBORHOOD — environs, vicinity, nearness, 

adjacency, proximity. 
NERVOUS— timid, timorous, shaky. 
NEW— fresh, recent, novel. (Old.) 
NEWS — tidings, intelligence, information. 
'lNICE — exact, accurate, good, particular, precise, 

I fine, delicate. (Careless, coarse, unpleasant. ) 

NIMBLE — active, brisk, lively, alert, quick, agile, 
prompt. (Awkward.) 

NOBIIvlTY — aristocracy, greatness, grandeur. 

NOBLE — exalted, elevated, illustrious, great, grand, 
lofty. (Low. ) 

NOISE — cry, outcry, clamor, row, din, uproar, 
tumult. (Silence. ) 

NONSENSICAL— irrational, absurd, silly, foolish. 
(Sensible.) 

NOTABLE — plain, evident, remarkable, striking, 
signal, rare. (Obscure.) 

NOTE, n. — token, symbol, mark, sign, indication, 
remark, comment. 

NOTED — distinguished, remarkable, eminent, re- 
nowned. (Obscure.) 

NOTICE, n. — advice, notification, intelligence. 

NOTICE, V. — mark, note, observe, attend to, heed. 

NOTIFY, V. — ^publish, acquaint, apprise, inform. 

NOTION — conception, idea, belief, opinion. 

NOTORIOUS — conspicuous, open, obvious, ill- 
famed. (Unknown.) 

NOURISH — nurture, cherish, foster, supply. 
(Starve, famish.) 

NOURISHMENT— food, diet, sustenance, nutrition. 

NOVEL — modern, new, fresh, recent, unused, rare, 
strange. (Old.) 

NOXIOUS — hurtful, deadly poisonous, deleterious, 
baneful. (Beneficial. ) 

NULLIFY — annul, vacate, invalidate, quash, can- 
cel, repeal. (Affirm.) 

NUTRITION — food, diet, nutriment, nourishment. 

OBDURATE— hard, callous, hardened, unfeeling, 
insensible. (Yielding, tractable. ) 

OBEDIENT — compliant, submissive, dutiful, re- 
spectful. (Obstinate.) 

OBESE — corpulent, fat, adipose. (Attenuated.) 

OBEY, V. — conform, comply, submit. (Rebel.) 

OBJECT, n. — aim, end, purpose, design, mark. 

OBJECT, V. — oppose, except to, contravene, im- 
peach, deprecate. (Assent. ) 

OBNOXIOUS— offensive. (Agreeble.) 

OBSCURE— undistinguished, unknown. (Distin- 
guished. ) 

OBSTINATE — contumacious, headstroiig, stubborn, 
obdurate. (Yielding.) 

OCCASION— opportunity. 

OFFENCE — affront, misdeed, misdemeanor, trans- 
gression, trespass. 

OFFENSIVE — insolent, abusive. (Inoffensive.) 

OFFICE — charge, function, place. 



OFFSPRING — issue, progeny, children, posterity. 
OLD — aged, superanuated, ancient, antique, anti- 
quated, obsolete, old-fashioned. (Young, new.) 
OMEN — presage, prognostic. 
OPAQUE— dark. (Bright, transparent.) 
OPEN— candid, unreserved, clear, fair. (Hidden.) 
OPINION — notion, view, judgment, sentiment. 
OPINIONATED— conceited, egotistical. (Modest.) 
OPPOSE— resist, withstand, thwart. (Give way.) 
OPTION— choice. 

ORDER — method, system, regularity. (Disorder.) 
ORIGIN — cause, occasion, beginning. (End.) 
OUTLIVE— survive. 

OUTWARD — external, outside, exterior. (Inner.) 
OVER— above. (Under.) 
OVERBALANCE— outweigh, preponderate. 
OVERBEAR — bear down, overwhelm, overpower. 
OVERBEARING— haughty, arrogant. (Gentle.) 
OVERFLOW— inundation, deluge. 
OVERRULE — supersede, suppress. 
OVERSPREAD— overrun, ravage. 

OVERTURN — invert, overthrow, reverse, subvert. 
(Establish, fortify.) 

OVERWHELM— crush, defeat, vanquish. 

PAIN — suffering, qualm, pang, agony, anquish. 

(Pleasure.) 
PALLID— pale, wan . ( Florid. ) 
PART — division, portion, share, fraction. (Whole.) 
PARTICULAR — exact, distinct, singular, strange, 

odd. (General.) 
PATIENT — passive, submissive. (Obdurate.) 
PEACE — calm, quiet, tranquility. (War, trouble, 

riot, turbulence. ) 
PEACEABLE— pacific, peaceful, quiet. (Trouble- 
some, riotous. ) 
PENETRATE— bore, pierce, perforate. 
PENETRATION— acuteness, sagacity. (Dullness.) 
PEOPLE — nation, persons, folks. 
PERCEIVE — note, observe, discern, distinguish. 
PERCEPTION— conception, notion, idea. 
PERIL — danger, pitfall, snare. (Safety.) 
PERMIT— allow, tolerate. ( Forbid. ) 
PERSUADE — allure, entice, prevail upon. 
PHYSICAL — corporeal, bodily, material. (Mental.) 
PICTURE — engraving, print, representation, illus- 
tration, image. 
PITEOUS— doleful, woeful, rueful. (Joyful.) 
PITILESS— see merciless. 
PITY — compassion, sympathy. (Cruelty.) 
PLACE, n. — spot, site, position, post, situation. 
PLACE, V. — order, dispose. 
PLAIN — open, manifest, evident. (Secret.) 
PLAY — game, sport, amusement. (Work.) 
PLEASE — gratify, pacify. (Displease.) 
PLEASURE— charm, delight, j oy. ( Pain. ) 
PLENTIFUL — abundani-- ample, copious, plenteous* 
(Scarce.) 



lOG 



SYNONYMS AND ANTONYMS. 



POISE — balance, equilibriam, evenness. 

POSITIVE— absolute, peremptory, decided, certain. 
(Negative, undecided.) 

POSSESSOR— owner, proprietor. 
POSSIBLE— practical, practicable. (Impossible.) 
POVERTY— penury, indigence, need. (Wealth.) 
POWER— authority, force, strength, dominion. 
POWERFUL— mighty, potent. (Weak.) 
PRAISE — commend, extol, laud. (Blame.) 
PRAYER — entreaty, petition, request, suit. 
PRETENCE, w.— pretext, subterfuge. 
PREVAILING— predominant, prevalent, general. 

( Isolated, sporadic. ) 
PREVENT — obviate, preclude. 
PREVIOUS— antecedent, introductory, preparatory, 

preliminary. (Subsequent. ) 
PRIDE— vanity, conceit. ( Humility. ) 
PRINCIPALLY— chiefly, essentially, mainly. 
PRINCIPLE — ground, reason, motive, impulse, 

maxim, rule, rectitude, integrity. 
PRIVILEGE — immunity, advantage, favor, claim, 

prerogative, exemption, right. 
PROBITY — rectitude, uprightness, honesty, integ- 
rity, sincerity, soundness. (Dishonesty. ) 
PROBLEMATICAL — uncertain, doubtful, dubious, 

questionable, disputable, suspicious. (Certain.) 
PRODIGIOUS — huge, enormous, vast, amazing, 
astonishing, astounding, surprising, remarkable, 
wonderful. (Insignificant.) 
PROFESSION — business, trade, occupation, office, 

vocation, employment, engagement, avowal. 
PROFFER — volunteer, oflfer, propose, tender. 
PROFLIGATE — abandoned, dissolute, depraved, 

vicious, degenerate, corrupt. (Virtuous.) 
PROFOUND — deep, fathomless, penetrating, recon- 
dite, solemn, abstruse. (Shallow.) 
PROFUSE — extravagant, prodigal, lavish, copious, 

improvident, excessive, plentiful. (Succinct.) 
PROLIFIC — productive, generative, fertile, fruitful, 

teeming. (Barren.) 
PROLIX — diffuse, long, prolonged, tedious, wordy, 

tiresome, verbose, prosaic. (Concise, brief.) 
PROMINENT — eminent, conspicuous, marked, im- 
portant, leading. (Obscure.) 
PROMISCUOUS — mixed, unarranged, mingled, in- 
discriminate. (Select.) 
PROMPT— See punctual. 
PROP, V. — maintain, sustain, support, stay. 
PROPAGATE — spread, circulate, diffuse, dissemin- 
ate, extend, breed, increase. (Suppress.) 
PROPER — legitimate, right, just, fair, equitable, 
honest, suitable, fit, adapted, meet, becoming, 
befitting, decent, pertinent. (Wrong.) 
PROSPER — flourish, succeed, grow rich, thrive, 

advance. (Fail.) 
PROSPERITY — well-being, weal, welfare, happi- 
ness, good luck. ( Poverty. ) 
PROXY — agent, representative, substitute, deputy. 
PRUDENCE — carefulness, judgment, discretion, 
wisdom. (Indiscretion.) 



PRURIENT — itching, craving, hankering, longing. 
PUERILE — youthful, juvenile, boyish, childish, 

infantile, trifling, weak, silly. (Mature.) 
PUNCTILIOUS— nice, particular, formal, precise. 

(Negligent.) 

PUNCTUAL — exact, precise, nice, particulai 

prompt, timely. (Dilatory.) 
PUTREFY — rot, decompose, corrupt, decay. 
PUZZLE, V. — preplex, confound, embarrass, pose,> 

bewilder, confuse, mystify. (Enlighten.) 

QUACK — imposter, pretender, charlatan, empiric, 
mountebank. (Savant.) 

QUAINT — artful, curious, far-fetched, fanciful, odd* 

QUALIFIED— competent, fitted. (Incompetent.) 

QUALITY— attribute, rank, distinction. 

QUERULOUS — doubting, complaining, fretting, 
repining. (Patient.) 

QUESTION — query, inquiry, interrogatory. 

QUIBBLE — cavil, evade, equivocate, shuffle. 

QUICK — lively, ready, prompt, alert, nimble, agile, 
active, brisk, expeditious, adroit, fleet, rapid, im- 
petuous, swift, sweeping, dashing, clever. (Slow.) 

QUOTE — note, repeat, cite, adduce. 

RABID — mad, furious, raging, frantic. (Rational.) 

RACE — course, match, pursuit, career, family, clan, 
house, ancestry, lineage, pedigree. 

RACK — agonize, wring, torture, excruciate, harass, 
distress. (Soothe.) 

RACY — spicy, pungent, smart, spirited, vivacious, 
lively. (Dull, insipid.) 

RADIANCE — splendor, brightness, brilliance, bril- 
liancy, lustre, glare. (Dullness.) 

RADICAL — organic, innate, fundamental, original, 
constitutional, inherent, complete, entire. (Super- 
ficial. In a political sense, uncompromising; 
antonym, moderate.) 

RANCID — fetid, rank, stinking, sour, tainted, foul. 
(Fresh, sweet. ) 

RANCOR — malignity, hatred, hostility, antipathy, 
animosity, enmity, ill-will, spite. (Forgiveness.) 

RANK — order, degree, dignity, consideration. 

RANSACK — rummage, pillage, overhaul, explore. 

RANSOM — emancipate, free, unfetter. 

RANT — bombast, fustian, cant. 

RAPACIOUS — ravenous, voracious, greedy, grasp* 
ing. (Generous.) 

RAPT — ecstatic, transported, ravished, entranced, 
charmed. (Distracted.) 

RAPTURE— ecstacy, transport, bliss. (Dejection.) 

RARE — scarce, singular, uncommon, unique. 

RASCAL — scoundrel, rogue, knave, vagabond. 

RASH — hasty, precipitate, foolhardy, adventurous.^ 
heedless, reckless, careless. (Deliberate. ) 

RATE — value, compute, appraise, estimate, abuse. 

RATIFY — confirm, establish, substantiate, sanction 
(Protest, oppose.) 

RATIONAL — reasonable, sagacious, judicious, wise, 
sensible, sound. (Unreasonable. ) 

RAVAGE — overrun, overspread, desolate, despoil. 



SYNONYMS AND ANTONYMS. 



107 



RAVISH — enrapture, enchant, charm, delight. 

RAZE — demolish, destroy, overthrow, dismantle, 
ruin. (Buildup.) 

REACH— touch, stretch, attain, gain, arrive at. 

READY — prepared, ripe, apt, prompt, adroit, handy. 
(Slow, dilatory.) 

REAI/ — actual, literal, practical, positive, certain, 
genuine, true. (Unreal.) 

REALIZE — accomplish, achieve, effect, gain, get, 
acquire, comprehend. 

REAP— gain, get, acquire, obtain. 

REASON, n. — motive, design, end, proof, cause, 
ground, purpose. 

REASON, V. — deduce, draw from, trace, conclude. 

REASONABLE — rational, wise, honest, fair, right, 
just. (Unreasonable. ) 

REBELLION — insurrection, revolt. 

RECANT — recall, abjure, retract, revoke. 

RECEDE — retire, retreat, withdraw, ebb. 

RECEIVE — accept, take, admit, entertain. 

RECEPTION — receiving, levee, receipt, admission. 

RECESS — retreat, depth, niche, vacation. 

RECREATION — sport, pastime, play, amusement, 
game, fun. 

REDEEM — ransom, lecover, rescue, deliver, save. 

REDRESS — remedy, repair, remission, abatement. 

REDUCE — abate, lessen, decrease, lower, shorten. 

REFINED — polite, courtly, polished, cultured, puri- 
fied, genteel. (Boorish.) 

REFLECT — consider, cogitate, think, muse, censure. 

REFORM — amend, correct, better, restore, im- 
prove. (Corrupt.) 

REFORMATION — ^improvement, reform, amend- 
ment. (Corruption.) 

REFUGE — asylum, protection, harbor, shelter. 

REFUSE, V. — deny, reject, repudiate, decline, with- 
hold. (Accept. ) 

REFUSE, n. — dregs, dross, scum, rubbish, leavings. 

REFUTE— disprove, falsify, negative. (Affirm.) 

REGARD, V. — mind, heed, notice, behold, respect, 
view, consider. 

REGRET, n. — grief, sorrow, lamentation, remorse. 

REGULAR — orderly, uniform, customary, ordinary, 
stated. (Irregular.) 

REGULATE — methodize, arrange, adjust, organize, 
govern, rule. (Disorder.) 

REIMBURSE — refund, repay, satisfy, indemnify. 

RELEVANT— fit, proper, suitable, appropriate, apt, 
pertinent. (Irrelevant.) 

RELIANCE — trust, hope, dependence, confidence. 
(Suspicion. ) 

RELIEF — succor, aid, help, redress, alleviation. 

RELINQUISH — give up, forsake, resign, surrender, 
quit, leave, forego. (Retain.) 

VvEMEDY — help, relief, redress, cure, specific. 

xKMORSELESS — ^pitiless, relentless, cruel, ruth- 
less, merciless, barbarous. (Merciful, humane. ) 

REMOTE — distant, far, secluded, indirect. (Near. ) 

BJ^PRODUCE— propagate, imitate, represent, copy. 



REPUDIATE- <lisown, discard, disavow, renounce, 
disclaim. (Acknowledge.) 

REPUGNANT— antagonistic, distasteful. (Agree- 
able.) - ' 

REPULSIVE — forbidding, odious, ugly, disagree- 
able, revolting. (Attractive.) 

RESPITE — reprieve, interval, stop, pause. 

REVENGE — vengeance, retaliation, requital, retri- 
bution. (Forgiveness.) 

REVENUE — produce, income, fruits, proceeds. 

REVERENCE, n. — honor, respect, awe, veneration, 
deference, worship, homage. (Execration.) 

REVISE — review, reconsider. 

REVIVE — refresh, renew, renovate, animate, resus- 
citate, vivify, cheer, comfort. 

RICH — wealthy, afiluent, opulent, copious, ample, 
abundant, exuberant, plentiful, fertile, gorgeous, 
superb, fruitful. (Poor.) 

RIVAL, n. — antagonist, opponent, competitor. 

ROAD — way, highway, route, course, path, path- 
way, anchorage. 

ROAM — ramble, rove, wander, stray, stroll. 

ROBUST — strong, lusty, vigorous, sinewy, stalwart, 
stout, sturdy, able-bodied. (Puny.) 

ROUT, V. — discomfit, beat, defeat, overthrow. 

ROUTE — road, course, march, way, journey, path. 

RUDE — rugged, rough, uncouth, unpolished, harsh, 
grufif, impertinent, saucy, flippant, impudent, inso- 
lent, saucy, churlish. (Polite, polished.) 

RULE — sway, method, system, law, maxim, guide, 
precept, formula, regulation, government, test,, 
standard. 

RUMOR — ^hearsay, talk, fame, report, bruit. 

RUTHLESS — cruel, savage, barbarous, inhuman, 
merciless, remorseless, relentless. (Considerate.) 

SACRED — holy, hallowed, divine, consecrated, dedi- 
cated, devoted. (Profane.) 

SAFE — secure, harmless, trustworthy. (Perilous.) 

SANCTION — confirm, countenance, encourage, sup- 
port, ratify, authorize. (Disapprove.) 

SANE — sober, lucid, sound, rational. (Crazy.) 

SAUCY — impertinent, rude, impudent, insolent, 
flippant, forward. (Modest.) 

SCANDALIZE — shock, disgust, offend, calumniate, 
vilify, revile, malign, traduce, defame, slander. 

SCANTY — bare, pinched, insufficient, slender, 
meager. (Ample.) 

SCATTER — strew, spread, disseminate, disperse, 
dissipate, dispel. (Collect. ) 

SECRET — clandestine, concealed, hidden, sly, un- 
derhand, latent, private. (Open. ) 

SEDUCE — allure, attract, decoy, entice, abduct, 
inveigle, deprave. 

SENSE — discernment, appreciation, view, opinion, 
feeling, perception, sensibility, susceptibility, sig- 
nificance, thought, judgment, signification, mean- 
ing, import, purport, wisdom. 

SENSIBLE— wise, intelligent, reasonable, sober, 
sound, conscious, aware. (Foolish ) 

SETTLE— arrange, adjUvSt, regulate, conclude. 



108 



SYNONYMS AND ANTONYMS. 



SEVERAL — sundr}^ divers, various, many. 

SEVERE — harsh, stcru, stringent, unmitigated, un- 
yielding, rough. (Lenient. ) 

SHAKE — tremble, shudder, shiver, quake, quiver. 

SHALLOW — superficial, flimsy, slight. (Deep, 

thorough. ) 
SHAME — disgrace, dishonor. (Honor.) 
SHA!MEFUL — degrading, scandalous, disgraceful, 

outrageous. (Honorable.) 
SHAIMELESS — immodest, impudent, indecent, in- 
delicate, brazen. 
SHAPE — form, fashion, mold, model. 
SHARE — portion, lot, division, quantity, quota. 
SHARP— acute, keen. (Dull.) 
SHINE — glare, glitter, radiate, sparkle. 
SHORT — brief, concise, succinct, summary. (Long.) 
SHOW, 11. — exhibition, sight, spectacle. 
SICK — diseased, sickly, unhealthy. (Healthy.) 
SICKNESS — illness, indisposition, disease disorder. 

(Health. ) 
SIGNIFICANT, a. — expressive, material, important. 

(Insignificant.) 
SIGNIFICATION— import, meaning, sense. 
SILENCE — speechlessness, dumbness. (Noise.) 
SILENT — dumb, mute, speechless. (Talkative. \ 
SIMILE — comparison, similitude. 
SIMPLE — single, uncompounded, artless, plain. 

(Complex, compound.) 
SIMULATE — dissimulate, dissemble, pretend. 
SINCERE — candid, hearty, honest, pure, genuine, 

real. (Insincere.) 
SITUATION — condition, plight, predicament, state. 
SIZE — bulk, greatness, magnitude, dimension. 
SLAVERY — servitude, enthrallment, thralldom. 

(Freedom.) 
SLEEP — doze, drowse, nap, slumber. 
SLEEPY— somnolent. (Wakeful.) 
SLOW— dilatory, tardy. (Fast.) 
BMELL — fragrance, odor, perfume, scent. 
SMOOTH— even, level, mild. (Rough.) 
SOAK — drench, imbrue, steep. 

SOCIAL — sociable, friendly, communicative. (Un- 
social.) 
SOFT— gentle, meek, mild. (Hard.) 
SOLICIT— importune, urge. 
SOLITARY— sole, only, single. 
SORRY — grieved, poor, paltry, insignificant. (Glad, 

respectable.) 
SOUIy — mind, spirit. (vSoul is opposed to body, 

mind to matter.) 
SOUND, a. — healthy, sane. (Unsound.) 
SOUND, n. — tone, noise, silence. 
SPACE— room. 

SPARSE— scanty, thin. (Luxuriant.) 
SPEAK — converse, talk, confer, say, tell. 
SPECIAIw — particular, specific. (General.) 
SPEND — expend, exhaust, consume, waste, disi- 
pate. (Savc.^ 



SPORADIC— isolated, rare. (General, prevalent.) 

SPREAD — disperse, diffuse, expand, disseminate. 

SPRING— fountain, source. 

STAFF — ^prop, support, stay. 

STAGGER— reel, totter. 

STAIN — soil, discolor, spot, sully, tarnish. 

STATE — commonwealth, realm. 

STERILE— barren, unfruitful. (Fertile.) 

STIFLE— choke, suffocate, smother. 

STORMY — rough, boisterous, tempestuous. (Calm.) 

STRAIGHT— direct, right. (Crooked.) 

STRAIT, a. — narrow, confined. 

STRANGER— alien, foreigner. (Friend.) 

STRENGTHEN— fortify, invigorate. (Weaken.) 

STRONG— robust, sturdy, powerful. (Weak. ) 

STUPID— dull, foolish, obtuse, witless. (Clever.) 

SUBJECT — exposed to, liable, obnoxious. (Exempt.) 

SUBJECT — inferior, suborbinate. (Superior to, 

above. ) 
SUBSEQUENT— succeeding, following. (Previous.) 
SUBSTANTIAL— solid, durable. ( Unsubstantial. ) 
SUIT — accord, agree. (Disagree. ) 
SUPERFICIAL— flimsy, shallow, untrustworthy. 

(Thorough.) 
SUPERFLUOUS— unnecessary. ( Necessary. ) 
SURROUND — encircle, encompass, environ. 
SUSTAIN — maintain, support. 
SYMMETRY— proportion. 
SYMPATHY — commiseration , compassion. 
SYSTEM— method, plan, order. 
SYSTEMATIC — orderly, regular, methodical. 

(Chaotic.) 

TAKE — accept, receive. (Give.) 

TALKATIVE — garrulous, loquacious, communica- 
tive. (Silent. ) 

TASTE — flavor, relish, savor. (Tastelessness.) 

TAX — custom, duty, impost, excise, toll. 

TAX — assessment, rate. 

TEASE — taunt, tantalize, torment, vex. 

TEMPORARY, a.— fleeting, transient, transitory 
(Permanent. ) 

TENACIOUS — pertinacious, retentive. 

TENDENCY— aim, drift, scope. 

TENET — position, view, conviction, belief. 

TERM — boundary, limit, period, time. 

TERRITORY— dominion. 

THANKFUL— grateful, obliged. (Thankless.) 

THANKLESS — ungracious, profitless, ungrateful 
unthankful. 

THAW — melt, dissolve, liquefy. (Freeze.) 

THEATRICAL — dramatic, showy, ceremonious. 

THEFT — robbery, depredation, spoliation. 

THEME — subject, topic, text, essay. 

THEORY — speculation, scheme, plea, hypothesis, 
conjecture. 

THEREJFORE} — accordingly, consequently, hence. 



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SYNONYMS AND ANTONYMS. 



10<^ 



Thick — dense, close, compact, solid, coagulated, 
muddy, turbid, misty, vaporous. (Thin.) 

THIN— slim, slender, slight, flimsy, lean, scraggy, 
attenuated. 

CHINK — cogitate, consider, reflect, ponder, muse, 
contemplate, meditate, conceive, fancy, imagine, 
apprehend, hold, esteem, reckon, consider, deem, 
regard, believe, opine. 

THOROUGH — accurate, correct, trustworthy, com- 
plete, reliable. (Superficial.) 

THOUGHT — idea, conception, imagination, fancy, 
conceit, notion, supposition, care, provision, con- 
sideration, opinion, view, sentiment, reflection, 
deliberation. 

THOUGHTFUIv — considerate, careful, cautious, 
heedful, contemplative, reflective, provident, pen- 
sive, dreamy. (Thoughtless.) 

THOUGHTLESS— inconsiderate, rash, precipitate, 
improvident, heedless. 

TIE, V. — bind, restrain, restrict, oblige, secure, join, 
unite. (Loose.) 

TIME) — duration, season, period, era, age, ^ate, 
span, spell. 

TOLKRATK — allow, admit, receive, suffer, permit, 
let, endure, abide. (Oppose.) 

TOP — summit, apex, head, crown, surface. (Base, 
bottom. ) 

TORRID — burning, hot, parching, scorching. 

TORTUOUS— twisted, winding, crooked, indirect. 

TORTURE- torxuent, anguish, agony. 

TOUCHING — tender, affecting, moving, pathetic. 

TRACTABLE— docile, manageable, amenable. 

TRADE — traffic, commerce, dealing, occupation, 
employment, office. 

TRADITIONAIr-oral, uncertain, transmitted. 

TRAFFIC — trade, exchange, commerce. 

TRAMMEL, n. — fetter, shatter, clog, bond, impedi- 
ment, chain, hindrance. 

TRANQUIL — still, unruffled, peaceful, hushed, 
quiet. (Noisy, boisterous.) 

TRANSACTION — negotiation, occurrence, proceed- 
ing, affair. 

TRAVEL — trip, peregrination, excursion, journey, 
tour, voyage. 

TREACHEROUS— traitorous, disloyal, treasonable, 
faithless, false-hearted. (Trustworthy, faithful.) 

TRITE — stale, old, ordinary, commonplace, hack- 
neyed. (Novel. ) 

TRIUMPH — achievement, ovation, victory, jubila- 
tion, conquest. (Failure, defeat.) 

TRIVIAL — trifling, petty, small, frivolous, unim- 
portant, insignificant. (Important.) 

True — genuine, actual, sincere, unaffected, true- 
hearted, honest, upright, veritable, real, veracious, 
authentic, exact, accurate, correct. 

TUMULTUOUS— turbulent, riotous, disorderly, dis- 
turbed, confused, unruly. (Orderly. ) 

TURBID — foul, thick, muddy, impure, unsettled. 

TYPE — emblem, symbol, figure, sign, kind, letter. 

TYRO— novice, beginner, learner. 



UGLY — unsightly, plain homely, ill-favored, hid. 
eous. (Beautiful.) 

UMBRAGE — offense, dissatisfaction, resentment. 

UMPIRE — referee, arbitrator, judge, arbiter. 

UNANIMITY — accord, agreement, unity, concord, 
(Discord.) 

UNBRIDLED — wanton, licentious, dissolute, loose. 

UNCERTAIN— doubtful, dubious, questionable, fit- 
ful, equivocal, ambiguous, indistinct, fluctuating. 

UNCIVIL — rude, discourteous, disrespectful, dis- 
obliging. (Civil.) 

UNCLEAN— dirty, foul, filthy, sullied. (Clean.) 

UNCOMMON — rare, strange, scarce, singular.choice. 
(Common, ordinary.) 

UNCONCERNED— careless, indifferent, apathetic. 
(Anxious. ) 

UNCOUTH— strange, odd, clumsy. (Graceful.) 

UNCOVER — reveal, strip, expose, lay bare. (Hide.) 

UNDER — below, underneath, beneath, subordinate, 
lower, inferior. (Above.) 

UNDERSTANDING— knowledge, intellect, intelli- 
gence, faculty, comprehension, mind, reason. 

UNDO — annul, frustrate, untie, unfasten, destroy. 

UNEASY — restless, disturbed, unquiet, awkward, 
stiff. (Quiet. ) 

UNEQUAL — uneven, not alike, irregular. (Even.) 

UNEQUALED — matchless, unique, novel, new. 

UNFIT, a. — improper, unsuitable, inconsistent, un- 
timely, incompetent. (Fit.) 

UNFIT, V. — disable, incapacitate, disqualify. (Fit.) 

UNFORTUNATE — calamitous, ill-fated, unlucky, 
wretched, unhappy, miserable. (Fortunate.) 

UNGAINLY — clumsy, awkward, lumbering, un> 
couth. (Pretty.) 

UNHAPPY — miserable, wretched, distressed, pain- 
ful, afflicted, disastrous, drear, dismal. (Happy.) 

UNIFORM — regular, symmetrical, equal, even, 
alike, unvaried. ( Irregular. ) 

UNINTERRUPTED — continuous, perpetual, un- 
ceasing, incessant, endless. (Intermittent.) 

UNION — junction, combination, alliance, confeder- 
acy, league, coalition, agreement. (Disunion. ) 

UNIQUE — unequal, uncommon, rare, choice, match- 
less. (Common, ordinary.) 

UNITE— join, conjoin, combine, concert, add, attac' 
(Separate, disrupt, sunder. ) 

UNIVERSAL — general, all, entire, total, catholic. 
(Sectional.) 

UNLIMITED — absolute, undefined, boundless, infi- 
nite. (Limited.) 

UNREASONABLE— foolish, silly, absurd, prepos- 
terous, ridiculous. 

UNRIVALED — unequaled, unique, unexampled, 
incomparable, matchless. (Mediocre.) 

UNRULY — ungovernable, unmanageable- refrac- 
tory. (Tractable, docile.) 

UNUSUAL — rare, unwonted, singular, uncommon, 
remarkable, strange. (Common. ) 

UPHOLD— maintain, defend, sustain, support "in- 
dicate. (Desert, abandon.) 



110 



SYNONYMS AND ANTONYMS. 



UPRIGHT — vertical, perpendicular, erect, just, 
equitable, fair, pure, honorable. (Prone.) 

UPRIGHTNESS— honesty, integrity, fairness, good- 
ness, probity, virtue, honor. ( Dishonest}^ ) 

URGE — incite, impel, push, drive, instigate, stimu- 
late, press, induce, solicit, 

URGENT — pressing, imperative, immediate, serious, 
wanted. (Unimportant. ) 

USAGE — custom, fashion, practice, prescription. 
USE, n. — usage, practice, habit, custom, avail, 

advantage, utility, benefit, application, (Disuse.) 
•USUAL — ordinary, common, accustomed, habitual, 

wonted, customary, general. (Unusual.) 
UTMOST^ 'farthest, remotest, uttermost, greatest. 
UTTER, a. — extreme, excessive, sheer, mere, pure. 
UTTER, V. — speak, articulate, pronounce, express. 
UTTERLY — totally, completely, wholly, altogether. 

VACANT — empty, unfilled, unoccupied, thought- 
less, unthinking. (Occupied.) 

VAGRANT, n. — wanderer, beggar, tramp, rogue. 

VAGUE — unsettled, undetermined, pointless, un- 
certain, indefinite. (Definite.) 

VAIN — useless, fruitless, empty, worthless, inflated, 
proud, conceited, unreal. (Effectual, humble.) 

VALIANT — brave, bold, valorous, courageous, gal- 
lant. (Cowardly.) 

VALID — v/eighty, strong, powerful, sound, binding, 
efi&cient. (Invalid.) 

VALOR — courage, gallantry, boldness, bravery, 
heroism. (Cowardice.) 

VALUE, V. — appraise, assess, reckon, appreciate, 
estimate, prize, esteem, treasure. (Despise,) 

VARIABLE — changeable, unsteady, inconstant, 
shifiing, wavering, fickle, restless. (Constant.) 

VARIETY — difference, diversity, change, diversi- 
fication, mixture, me'^^ey, miscellany. (Same- 
ness, monotony.) 

VAvST — spacious, boundless, mighty, enormous, im- 
mense, colossal, gigantic, prodigious. (Confined.) 

VAUNT — boast, brag, puff, hawk, advertise, parade. 

VENERABLE — grave, sage, wise, old, reverend. 

VENIAL — pardonable, excusable, justifiable. (Se- 
rious, grave.) 

VENOM — poison, virus, spite, malice, malignity. 

VENTURE, n. — speculation, chance, peril, stake. 

VERACITY— truth, truthfulness, credibility, accu- 
racy. ( Falsehood. ) 

VERBAL — oral, spoken, literal, parole, unwritten. 

VERDICT— judgment, finding, decision, answer. 

VEXATION— chagrin, mortification. (Pleasure.) 

Vibrate —oscillate, swing, sway, wave, thrill. 

Vice — vileness, corruption, depravity, pollution, 
immorality, wickedness, guilt, iniquity, (Virtue.) 

VICIOUS — corrupt, depraved, debased, bad, unruly, 
contrary, demoralized, profligate, faulty. (Gentle, 
virtuous.) 

VICTIM — sacrifice, food, prey, sufferer, dupe, gull. 

VICTUALS— viands, bread, meat niov'sions, fare, 
food, repast. 



VIOLENT — boisterous, furious, impetuous, vehe- 
ment. (Gentle.) 
VIRTUOUS— upright, honest, moral. (Profligate." 
VISION — apparition, ghost, phantom, specter. 
VOLUPTUARY— epicure, sensualist. 
VOUCH — affirm, asserverate, assure, aver. 

WAIT — await, expect, look for, wait for. 
WAKEFUI^vigilant, watchful. (Sleepy.) 
WANDER — range, ramble, roam, rove, stroll. 
WANT— lack, need, ( Abundance. ) 
WARY — circumspect, cautious, (Foolhardy.) 
WASH — clean, rinse, wet, moisten, stain, tint. 
WASTE, V. — squander, dissipate, lavish, destroy, 
decay, dwindle, wither. 

WAY — method, plan, system, means, manner, mode, 
form, fashion, course, process, road, route, track,, 
path, habit, practice. 

WEAKEN — debilitate, enfeeble, enervate, invali' 
date. (Strengthen.) 

WEARY — harass, jade, tire, fatigue. (Refresh.) 

WEIGHT — gravity, heaviness, burden, load. 
( Lightness. ) 

WELL-BEING — happiness, prosperity, welfare. 

WHOLE — entire, complete, total, integral. (Part) 

WICKED — iniquitous, nefarious. (Virtuous.) 

WILL — wish, desire. 

WILLINGLY — spontaneously, voluntarily. (Un- 
willingly, ) 

WIN — get, obtain, gain, procure, effect, realize, 
accomplish, achieve. (Lose.) 

WINNING — attractive, charming, fascinating, be- 
witching, enchanting, dazzling. (Repulsive.) 

WISDOM — prudence, foresight, far-sightedness, 
sagacity. (Foolishness.) 

WONDER, V. — admire, 2xsi2a.^, astonish, surprise. 

WONDER, n. — marvel, miracle, prodigy. 

WRONG— injustice, injury. (Right.) 

YAWN — gape, open wide. 

YEARN — hanker after, long for, desire, crave. 

YELL — bellow, cry out, scream. 

YELLOW— golden, saffron-like. 

YELP — ^bark, sharp cry, howl. 

YET — besides, nevertheless, notwithstanding, how- 
ever, still, ultimately, at last, so far, thus far. 

YIELD — bear, give, afford, impart, communicate, 
confer, bestow, abdicate, resign, cede, surrender. 

YIELDING — supple, pliant, bending, compliant 
submissive, unresisting. (Obstinate.) 

YOKE, V. — couple, link, connect. 

YORE — long ago, long since. 

YOUTH — boy, lad, minority, adolescence. 

YOUTHFUL— juvenile, puerile. (Old.) 

^EAL — energy, fervor, ardor, earnestness, enthu- 

siam, eagerness. (Indifference.) 
ZEALOUS — warm, ardent, fervent, enthusiastic^ 

anxious, (Indifferent, careless.) 
ZEST— relish, gusto, flavor. (Disgust.) 



NoMS De Plume of Authors 



ASSUMED NAMli REAI, NAME 

A Country Parson . . , Archbishop Whately 

Agate Whitelaw Reid 

A. K. H. B . Rev. A. K. H. Boyd 

A. I/. O. K. Miss Charlotte Tucker 

Alfred Crowquill A. H. Forrester 

Americus Dr. Francis Lieber 

Amy IvOthrop Miss Anna B. Warner 

American Girl Abroad . Miss Trafton 
Artemus Ward .... Charles F. Browne 
Asa Trenchard .... Henry Watterson 

Aunt Kitty Maria J. Macintosh 

Aunt Mary Mary A. Lathbury 

Barnacle . „ A. C. Barnes 

Barry Cornwall .... Bryan Waller Proctor 

^ , ( Benjamin, ' Austin, and 

^^"^"ly i Lymau Abbott 

Besieged Resident . . . Henry Ivabouchere 

Bibliophile Samuel Austin Allibone 

Bill Arp Charles H. Smith 

Blythe White, Jr. . . . Solon Robinson 
Bookworm . .... Thomas F. Donnelly 

Boston Bard Robert S. Coffin 

Boz Charles Dickens 

Brick Pomeroy .... Mark M. Pomeroy 

Burleigh Rev. Matthew Hale Smith 

Burlington ..,.„. Robert Saunders 

Carl Benson Charles A. Bristed 

Chartist Parson .... Rev. Charles Kingsley 
ChinCvSe Philosopher . . Oliver Goldsmith 
Christopher Crowfield . Mrs. Harriet Beecher Stowe 
Chrystal Croftangry . . Sir Walter Scott 

Claribel Mrs. Caroline Barnard 

Country Parson . . . . A. K. H. Boyd 

Cousin Alice Mrs. Alice B. Haven 

Cousin Kate Catherine D. Bell 

^ „ f Charlotte Bronte (Mrs. 

^"■•"^■■^'1 \ Nichols) 

Danbury Newsman . , J. M. Bailey 
Diedrich Knickerbocker Washington Irving 

Dolores Miss Dickson 

Dow, Jr Flbridge G. Page 

Dr. Syntax William Combe 

Dunii Browue Rev. Samuel Fiske 

111 



ASSUMED NAME REAT^ NAME 

F D E N I ^^^* -^"^"^^ ^- ^" ^ 

^ Southworth 
Edmund Kirke .... James Roberts Gilmor^ 

Eleanor Kirke Mrs. Nolly Ames 

Elia Charles Lamb 

Eli Perkins Matthew D. Landon 

Elizabeth Wetherell , . Susan Warner 

Ella Rodman Mrs. Eliza Rodman 

Ellis Bell Emily J. Bronte 

English Opium-Eater . Thomas DeQuincy 
Ettrick Shepherd . . . James Hogg 
Eugene Pomeroy . . . Thomas F. Donnelly 
Falconbridge Jonathan F. Kelly 

Fanny Ferr \ ^^^^ ^f James Parton and 

^ 1 sister of N. P. Willis 

Fanny Fielding .... Mary J. S. Upsher 

Fanny Forester .... Emily C. Judson 

Fat Contributor . . . . A. M. Griswold 

Father Prout Fraucis-Mahoney 

Florence Percy .... Mrs. Elizabeth Akers Allen 

Frank For'^ester .... Henry W. Herbert 

_ „ ^^ ., f Miss Mary Abigail Dodge 

Gail Hamilton . . . . i . ^^ ..^ "^ ^ 

•^ of Hamilton 

Gath, also Laertes . . . George Alfred Townsend 

Geofi' Crayon .... Washington Irving 

George Eliot Mrs. Marian Lewes Cross 

George Fitz Boodle . . William M. Thackeray 

George Forest Rev. J. G. Wood 

^ ^ - f Mme. Amantine Lucill*? 

George Sand i . ^ , 

'^ y. Aurore Dudevant 

Grace Greenv/ood . . . Mrs. Sara J. Lippincott 

Grace Wharton . . . . A. T. Thompson 

Hans Breitmann . . . Charles Godfrey Leland 

Hans Yokel A. Oakey Hall 

Harriet Myrtle .... Mrs. Lydia F. F. Milla 

Harry Hazell .... Justin Jones 

Harry Lorrequer . . , Charles Lever 

Hesba Stretton .... Miss Hannah Smith 

Hibernicus De Witt Clinton 

Historicus Wm. G: Vernon Harcouft 

Ho"^a Bigelow .... James Russell Lowell 

Howadji George WilHam Curtia 

Howard Mordecai Manuel iSoa»» 



112 



NOMS DE PLUME OF AUTHORS, 



ASSUMED NAMR REAI, NAME 

Howard Glyndon . , . Laura C. Redden 

Hyperion Josiah Quiucy 

lanthe Emma C. Embury 

Ik Marvel ...... Donald G. Mitchell 

Irenaeus Rev. S. Irenaeus Prime, D.D. 

Isabel William Gilmore Simms 

Janus Dr. DoUinger 

Jaques J. Hain Frisv^^ell 

Jay Charlton J. C. Goldsmith 

Jedediah Cleishbotham Sir Walter Scott 

Jennie June Mrs. Jennie C. Croly 

John Chalkhill .... Izaak Walton 

John Darby J. C. Garretson 

John Paul C. H. Webb 

John Phoenix, Gentleman George H. Derby 
Josh Billings ..... Henry W. Shaw 

Joshua Coffin H. W. Longfellow 

Kate Campbell .... Jane Elizabeth Lincoln 

Kirwan Rev. Nicholas Murray 

K. N. Pepper ... Jame« M Morris 

Laicus Rev. Lyman Abbott 

Launcelot WagstafiFe, Jr. Charles Mackay 
Lemuel Gulliver . . . Jonathan Swift 
Louise Muhlbach . . . Clara Mundt 
Major Jack Downing . . Seba Smith 
Marion Harland .... Mary V. Terhune 

Mark Twain Samuel L. Clemens 

Max Adler ....... Charles H. Clark 

Minnie Myrtle .... Miss Anna C. Johnson 

Mintwood Miss Mary A. E. Wager 

M. Quad Charles B. Lewis 

Mrs. Partington . . . . B. P. Shillaber 

M. T. Jug Joseph Howard 

Ned Buntline Edward Z. C. Judson 

Nym Crinkle A. C. Wheeler 

Old Bachelor George William Curtis 

Old Cabinet R, Watson Gilder 

Old Humphrey .... George Mogridge 

Old'Un Francis Alexander Durivage 

Oliver Optic William Taylor Adams 

Olivia Emily Edson Grigg 

Ollapod Willis G. Clark 

Orpheus C. Kerr . . . Robert H. Newell 

Ouida Louisa De La Rame 

Owen Meredith .... Lord Lytton 

Parson Brownlow . . . Wm. Gunnaway Brownlow 

Patty Lee Alice Cary 

Paul Creyton J- T. Trowbridge 

Pen Holder Rev. Edward Egglestan 

Pequot Charles W. March 

Perdita Mrs. Mary Robinson 

Perley Benj. Perley Poore 

Peter Parley S. G. Goodrich 

Peter Pindar Dr. John Wolcot 



ASSUMED NAME REAI, NAME 

Petroleum V. Nasby . . D. R. Locke 

Phoenix Sir Henry Martin 

Poor Richard Benjamin Franklin 

Porte Crayon David H. Strother 

Private Miles O'Reilly . Charles G. Halpine 
Robinson Crusoe . . . Daniel Defoe 

Runnymede Lord Beaconsfield 

Rustic Bard Robert Dinsmore 

Sam Slick Thomas C. Halliburton 

Saxe Holm Miss Rush Ellis 

Shirley Dare Mrs. Susan D. Waters 

Sophie May Mrs. Eckerson 

Sophie Sparkle .... Jennie E. Hicks 

Sparrowgrass F. S. Cozzens 

Straws, Jr , Kate Field 

Susan Coolidge .... Miss Woolsey 
Teufelsdroeckh .... Thomas Carlyle 

Teutha William Jerdan 

The Black Dwarf . . . Thomas J. Wooler 

The Celt Thomas Davis 

The Druid Henry H. Dixon 

The Governor Henry Morford 

The Traveller Isaac Stary 

Theodore Taylor . . . J. C. Plotteu 
Thomas Ingoldsby . . . Rev. R. H. Barham 

Thomas Little Thomas Moore 

Thomas Rowley .... Thomas Chatterton 
Timon Fieldmouse . . William B. Rands 
Timothy Tickler . . . Robert Syme 
Timothy Titcomb . . . Dr. J. G. Holland 

Tom Brown Thomas Hughes 

Tom Folio Joseph E. Babson 

Tom Hawkins Theodore W. A. Buckley 

Trinculo John A. Cockerill 

Tristram Merton = . . Thomas B. Macaulay 

Two Brothers A. and C. Tennyson 

Ubique Parker Gilmore 

Una Mary A. Ford 

Uncle Hardy William Senior 

Uncle John Elisha Noyce 

Uncle Philip Rev. Dr. F. L. Hawks 

Uncle Toby ..... . Re v. Tobias H . Miller 

Veteran Observer . . . E. D. Mansfield 

Vigilant John Corlett 

Vivian George H. Lewes 

Vivian Joyeux .... W. M. Praed 
Walter Maynard .... William Beale 

Warhawk William Palmer 

Warrington W. P. Robinson 

Warwick F. O. Otterson 

Waters William H. RusselJ 

V^^at's His Name . . . E. C. Massey 
Wilibald, Alexis .... William PIsering 
Wizard John Corlett 



PART 11. 

READINGS AND RECITATIONS 

FROM THE 

Most Celebrated Authors 

COMPRISING 

THRILLING BATTLE SCENES AND VICTORIES; BEAUTIFUL DESCRIPTIONS; SOUL-STIR- 
RING DEEDS OF HEROISM ; WITTY AND HUMOROUS SELECTIONS ; PATHETIC 
PIECES; FAMOUS ORATIONS; RECITATIONS FOR CHILDREN; READ- 
INGS WITH ACCOMPANIMENTS OF MUSIC; DRILLS; LESSON 

TALKS. ETC. 



HOW TO READ AND RECITE, 



/ <zJ OOD readers and reciters are ex- 
\ S I tremely rare, and it is because suf- 
ficient time and study are not de- 
voted to the art of elocution. Not one 
educated man in ten can read a paragraph 
in a newspaper so effectively that to listen to 
him is a pleasure, and not a pain. 

Many persons are unable so to express the 
words as to convey their meaning. They 
pervert the sense of the sentence by empha- 
sizing in the wrong place, or deprive it of all 
sense by a monotonous gabble, giving no 
emphasis to any words they utter. They 
neglect the " stops," as they are called ; they 
make harsh music with their voices ; they 
hiss, or croak, or splutter, or mutter — every- 
thing but speak the words set down for them 
as they would have talked them to you in 
conversation. 

Why should this be ? Why should correct 
reading be rare, pleasant reading rarer still, 
and good reading found only in one person 
in ten thousand ? Let me urge you with 
•all earnestness to become an accomplished 



reader and reciter. This is something to be 
coveted, and it is worth your while to acquire 
it, though it cost you much time and labor. 
Attend to the rules here furnished. 

Cultivation of the Voice. 

Accustom yourself to reading and reciting 
aloud. Some of our greatest orators have 
made it a practice to do this in the open air, 
throwing out the voice with full volume, call- 
ing with prolonged vowel sounds to some 
object in the distance, and thus strengthening 
the throat and lungs. Every day you should 
practice breathings ; by which I mean that ■ 
you should take in a full breath, expand the 
lungs to their full capacity, and then emit 
the breath slowly, and again suddenly with 
explosive force. A good, flexible voic^ is 
the first thing to be considered. 

Distinct Enunciation. 

When you hear a person read or speak 
you are always pleased if the full quantity is 
given to each syllable of every word. Only 

113 



114 



HOW TO READ AND RECITE. 



in this way can the correct meaning of the 
sentence be conveyed. People who are par- 
tially deaf Will tell you that they are not 
ahva}'s able to hear those who speak the 
loudest, but those who speak the most dis- 
tinctly. Do not recite to persons who are 
nearest to you, but rather glance at those 
who are farthest away, and measure the 
amount of volume required to make them 

hear. 

Emphasis. 

Some word or words in every sentence 

are more important, and require greater 

emphasis than others. You must get at 

the exact meaning of the sentence, and be 

governed by this. The finest effects can be 

produced by making words emphatic where 

the meaning demands it. Look well tc this. 

Pauses. 
Avoid a sing-song, monotoncyus style of 
delivery. Break the flow where it is required; 
you will always notice how skillfully a 
trained elocutionist observes the proper j 
pauses. Have such command of yourself 
that you do not need to hurry on with your 
recitation at the same pace from beginning 
to end. The pause enables the hearer to 
take in the meaning of the words, and is 
therefore always to be observed. 

Gestures. 

Speak with your whole body, not merely 
with your tongue and lips. It is permissible 
to even stamp with your foot when the sense 
calls for it. Speak v/ith your eyes, with your 
facial expression, with your fingers, with 
your clenched fist, with your arm, with the 
pose of your body, with all the varying atti- 
tudes needful to express what you have to 
say with the greatest effect. 

Stand, as a rule, with one foot slightly in 
advance of the other, the weight of the body 
resting upon the foot farther back. Do not 
be tied to one position ; hold yourself at 



liberty to change your position and move 
about. Do not hold your elbows close to 
your body, as if your arms were strapped to 
your sides. Make the gesture in point of 
time slightly in advance of the word or 
words it is to illustrate. 

The Magnetic Speaker. 

It has always been said that the poet is 
born, but the orator is made. This is not 
wholly correct, for the more magnetism you 
were born with, the better speaker you will 
become. Still, the indefinable thing called 
magnetism is something that can be culti- 
vated ; at least you can learn how to show 
it, and permit it to exert its wonderful influ- 
ence over your hearers. 

Put yourself into your recitations in such 
a way that the thoughts and sentiments you 
express shall, for the time being, be your 
own. Every nerve and muscle of your body, 
every thought and emotion of your mind, in 
short, your whole being should be enlisted. 
You should become transformed, taking on 
the character required by the reading or 
recitation, and making it your own. 

Persons who can thus lose themselves in 
what they are saying, and throw into their 
recitations all the force and magnetism of 
which they are capable, are sure to meet 
with success. 

Self-Command. 

Young persons naturally feel embarrassed 
when they face an audience. Some of our 
greatest orators have known what this is, and 
were compelled to labor hard to overcome it. 
Practice alone will give you confidence, unless 
you possess it already, and this is true of only 
a few young persons. ^ 

Do your utmost to control yourself Let « 
your will come into play ; strong will, gov- 
erning every emotion of the mind and move- 
ment of the body, is absolutely essential. Do 
I not be brazen, but self-confident. 



Typical Gestures to be Used in Reading and Recitinc 




Pig. 1.— Malediction. 

Traitors I I would call down the wrath of 
Heaven on them. 





Fig. 2.— Designating. 

Scorn points his slow, unmoving finger. 




Fig. 3.— Silence. 

There was silence deep as death. 
And the boldest held his breath. 



Fig. 4.— Repulsion. 

Back to thy punishment, false fugidve. 
And to thy speed add wings ! 

115 



116 



TYPICAL GESTURES. 




Fig. 5.— Declaring. 

I speak the truth, and dare 
to speak it. 





Fig. 6. — Announcing. 

We proclaim the hberty that God gave 
when He gave us hfe. 




Fig. 7.— Discerning. 

A sail, ho ! A dim speck on 
the horizon. 



Pig. 8.— Invocation. 

Angels and ministers of 
grace, defend us ! 



TYPICAL GESTURES. 



117 





Pig. 9.— Presenting or Receiving. 

Welcome the coming, speed 
the going guest. 



Fig. 10.— Horror. 

Methought I heard a voice cry, '* Sleep no n^f/rc! 
Macbeth, does murder sleep ? " 





Fig. 11.— Exaltation. 

Washington is in the clear upper sky. 



Fig. 12.— Secrecy. 

Be mute, be secret as the grave. 



118 



TYPICAL GESTURES. 




Fig. 13.— Wonderment. 

While the dance was the merriest, the door 
opened and there stood the parson ! 





Fig. 14.— Indecision. 

Shall I take back my promise ? 'Twill but 
expose me to contempt. 




Fig. 15. -Grief. 

O, that by weeping I could 
heal my sorrow ! 



Fig. 16.- Gladness. 

No pen, no tongue can summon power 
To tell the transports of that hour. 



TYPICAL GESTURES. 



119 





Pig. 17.— Signalling. 

There stood Count Wagstaff, beckoning. 



Fig. 18.— Tender Rejection. 

It has come at last ; I must say, No. 





Fig. 19.— Protecting— Soothing. 

Boy ! Harold ! safely rest, 
Enjoy the honey-dew of slumber. 



Fig. 20.— Anguish. 

My cup with agony is filled, 

From nettles sharp as death distilled. 



120 



TYPICAL GESTURES. 




Fig. 21.— Awe— Appeal. 

Spirits of the just made perfect, from your 
empyrean heights look down ! 




Fig. 23. -Defiance. 

Defy the devil ; consider he 
is the enemy of mankind. 




Fig. 22.— Meditation. 

A lonely man, wending his slow way along 
and lost in deepest thought. 




Pig. 24.— Denying— Rejecting. 

Yes, if this were my last breath I would 
deny these infamous charges. 



TYPICAL GESTURES. 



121 




Pig. 25.— Dispersion. 

Spain's proud Armada was 
scattered to the winds. 




Fig. 26.— Remorse. 

A thoughtless, wicked deed; it stings 
sharper than a serpent's tooth. 





Fig. 27.— Accusation. 

And Nathan said to David, 
Thou art the man. 



Fig. 28.— Revealing. 

The way she kept it was, of course, 
To tell it all and make it worse. 



122 



TYPICAL GESTURES. 




Pig. 29.— Correct Positions of the Hands. 

I. Simple affirmation. 2. Emphatic declaration. 3. Apathy or 
prostration. 4. Energetic appeal. 5. Negation or denial. 6. Violent 
repulsion. 7. Indexing or cautioning. 8. Determination or anger. 
9. Supplication. 10. Gentle entreaty. 11. Carelessness. 12. Argu- 
mentation. 13. Earnest entreaty. 14. Resignation. 



RECITATIONS WITH LESSON TALKS, 

SHOWING BY EXAMPLES HOW TO READ AND RECITE. 



THE SONG OF OUR SOLDIERS AT SANTIAGO. 



When the destruction of Admiral Cervera's fleet became known before Santiago, the American 
soldiers cheered wildly, and, with one accord, through miles of trenches, began singing "The Star 
Spangled Banner." You should preface the recitation with the foregoing statement. 

INGING^The Star Spangled Ban- 
ner" 

In the very jaws of death ! 
Singing our glorious anthem, 




2. 



Some with their latest breath ! 
The strains of that solemn music 

Through the spirit will ever roll, 
Thrilling with martial ardor 

The depths of each patriot soul. 

Hearing the hum of the bullets ! 

Eager to charge the foe ! 
Biding the call to battle, 

Where crimson heart streams flow! 



Thinking of home and dear ones, 
Of mother, of child, of wife, 

They sang " The Star Spangled Banner " 
On that field of deadly strife. 



They sang with the voices of heroes, 

In the face of the Spanish guns. 
As they leaned on their loaded rifles, 

With the courage that never runs. 
They sang to our glorious emblem. 

Upraised on that war-worn sod. 
As the saints in the old arena 

Sang a song of praise to God. 

David Graham Ader 



LESSON TALK. 



This selection is inspiring. It is brimful of the 
glow of patriotism. To deliver it, therefore, in a 
dull, listless, indifferent manner would suppress the 
natural sentiment of the piece and rob it of the effect 
it would otherwise produce. Be alive ; not wooden 
and nerveless. If you were standing in a crowd and 
a brass band should come along and strike up the 
*' Star Spangled Banner," you would instantly see 
the change that would come over the assembled 
throng. Every heart would be moved, every face 
would be filled with expression, every nerve would 
seem to tingle. 

When you are to deliver a selection of this kind, 
come before your audience with your body straight- 
ened to its full height, your shoulders thrown back, 
and your head erect. For the time being you are a 
patriot, and are saying some grand things about the 
Stars and Stripes and about our brave heroes who 



have carried " Old Glory " to victory on so many 
battlefields. 

Your manner must indicate that you appreciate 
their heroism, that you are ready to extol it, and that 
you expect your hearers to share the emotions of 
your own breast. You should know what tones of 
voice your are to employ in expressing most effective- 
ly the sentiments of the piece, what gestures should 
be used and what words are to be emphasized. 

I. Taking now the first verse, you should let the 
tones of your voice out full and clear on the first 
line, lowering your voice on the second line; then 
letting your voice ring out again on the third line, 
and again subduing it on the fourth. Here is a fine 
opportunity for contrast between strong tones and 
tones subdued and suggestive of death. It would 
not be amiss to give the words " their latest breath " 
in a whisper. Prolong the sound on the word " roll." 

123 



124 



RECITATIONS AND LESSON TALKS. 



The word " thrilling " should be expressed with 
energetic impulse, and the voice lowered, yet round 
and full, on the last line. 

2. With hands elevated as high as the shoulders 
and palms turned outward, expressive of wonder and 
almost alarm, dehver the first line of the second 
verse. Suddenly change to confidence and courage 
in the next three lines. Express nothing here that 
could suggest timidity, but rather the opposite. 

" Thinking of home and dear ones, 
Of mother, of child, of wife," 

should be spoken in a thoughtful mood, with head 



dropped on breast ; then lift it as you speak the two 
lines that follow, the last of which refers to the field 
of battle and should be designated, as in Figure 2 of 
Typical Gestures, found in the preceding pages. 

3. At the beginning of verse three, elevate your 
voice and prolong the tones. The words " never 
runs '' are emphatic ; put stress on them. On the 
fifth and sixth hnes of this verse use the gesture for 
Exaltation, Figure 1 1 of Typical Gestures— arm lifted 
as high as the head and palm opened upward, giving 
the arm at the same time a circular motion. The last 
two lines should be delivered with hands clasped, palm 
. to palm, in front of the breast, and eyes turned upward. 



THE VICTOR OF MARENGO, 



Y^!r\APOLEON was sitting in his tent; 
I — 7 before him lay a map of Italy. He 
|b ^ took four pins and stuck them 
up ; measured, moved the pins, and measured 
again. " Now," said he, " that is right ; I 
will capture him there ! " " Who, sir ? " said 
an officer. " Milas, the old fox of Austria. 
He will retire from Genoa, pass Turin, and 
fall back on Alexandria. I shall cross the 
Po, meet him on the plains of Laconia, and 
conquer him there," and the finger o^ the 
child of destiny pointed to Marengo. 

2. Two months later the memorable cam- 
paign of 1800 began. The 20th of May saw 
Napoleon on the heights of St. Bernard. The 
22d, Lannes, with the army of Genoa, held 
Padua. So far, all had been well with Na- 
poleon. He had compelled the Austrians to 
take the position he desired ; reduced the 
army from one hundred and twenty thousand 
to forty thousand men; dispatched Murat 
to the right, and June 14th moved forward 
to consummate his masterly plan. 

3. But God threatened to overthrow his 
scheme ! A little rain had fallen in the Alps, 
and the Po could not be crossed in time. 
The battle was begun. Milas, pushed to 
the wall, resolved to cut his way out; and 
Napoleon reached the field to see Lannes 



beaten — Champeaux dead — Desaix still 
charging old Milas, with his Austrian pha- 
lanx at Marengo, till the consular guard gave 
way, and the well-planned victory was a terri- 
ble defeat. Just as the day was lost, Desaix, 
the boy General, sweeping across the field at 
the head of his cavalry, halted on the emi- 
nence where stood Napoleon. 

4. There was in the corps a drummer-boy, 
a gamin whom Desaix had picked up in the 
the streets of Paris. He had followed the 
victorious eagle of France in the campaigns 
of Egypt and Germany. As the columns 
halted, Napoleon shouted to him : " Beat a 
retreat ! " The boy did not stir. " Gamin, 
beat a retreat ! " The boy stopped, grasped 
his drum-sticks, and said : *' Sir, I do not 
know how to beat a retreat ; Desaix never 
taught me that ; but I can beat a charge, — 
Oh ! I can beat a charge that will make the 
dead fall into line. I beat that charge at the 
Pyramid: I beat that charge at Mount Tabor: 
I beat it again at the bridge of Lodi. May 
I beat it here ? " 

5. Napoleon turned to Desaix, and said: 
" We are beaten ; what shall we do ? " " Do ? 
Beat them! It is only three o'clock, and 
there is time enough to win a victory yet. 
Up ! the charge ! beat the old charge of 



RECITATIONS AND LESSON TALKS. 



VJo 



Mount Tabor and Lodi ! " A moment later 
^iie corps, following the sword-gleam of De- 
saix, and keeping step with the furious roll 
of the gamin's drum, swept down on the 
host of Austrians. They drove the first line 
back on the second — both on the third, and 
there they died. Desaix fell at the first 
volley, but the line never faltered, and as the 
smoke cleared away the gamin was seen in 
front of his line marching right on, and still 
beating the furious charge. 



6. Over the dead and wounded, over breast- 
works and fallen foe, over cannon belching 
forth their fire of death, he led the way to 
victory, and the fifteen days in Italy were 
ended. To-day men point to Marengo in 
wonder. They admire tlie power and for- 
sight that so skillfully handled the batti 
but they forget that a General only thirty 
years of age made a victory of a def^-at. They 
forget that a gamin of Paris put to sham: 
" the child of destiny." 



LESSON TALK. 



A story or a'narrative like this should be read in a 
more easy, conversational manner than is demanded 
for selections more tragic or oratorical. Yet a great 
variety of expression can be introduced into this 
piece, and without it, the reading will be tame. 

1. In the first part of this verse spread your hands 
forward, then outward with the palms downward, to 
indicate the map of Italy which is lying before the 
great general. In a tone of triumph, accompanied 
with firmness and decision. Napoleon says, "I will 
capture him there.'' Use the gesture for defiance, 
Figure 23, in Typical Gestures. Your body must be 
immediately relaxed as you ask the question, "Who, 
sir ? " Let the answer be given with utterance some- 
what rapid, still indicating firmness and decision. 

2. This verse is easy narrative and should be re- 
cited as you would tell it to a friend in conversation. 
The words "masterly plan" in the last Hne are 
emphatic. 

3. In the first line of this verse use the gesture 
shown in Figure 24 01 Typical Gestures, indicating 
that Napoleon's scheme was rejected by God and 
brought to nought. The style of narrative here is 
very concise and the sentences should follow one 
another in quick succession. *' Milas, pushed to the 



wall,'' should be expressed by Figure 4 of Typical 
Gestures. When you come to the words " the well- 
planned victory was a terrible defeat,'' stretch forth 
your right arm as in Figure 6 of Typical Gestures, 
dropping it to your side heavily on the last word. 
Point to the boy general sweeping across the field 
and to the eminence where Napoleon stood. Cham- 
peaux is pronounced Sho7i-po ; Desaix is pronounced 
De-say. 

4. Here you drop again into easy narrative until 
you come to the words, "Beat a retreat!" These 
are to be shouted as if you were the officer on the 
battlefield giving the command. Put intense expres- 
sion into the boy's appeal, as he states that he does 
not know how to beat a retreat, and pleads to be per- 
mitted to beat a charge. There is opportunity here 
for grand effect as you deliver these lines. 

5 and 6. Use the gesture for Defiance on the 
words, " Up ! the charge!" You are ordering an 
advance, resolved to win the victory. The remainder 
of this verse and the following is narrative and de- 
mands quite a different rendering from the words of 
command in other parts of the selection. If you 
recite it in such a way as to express the full meaning 
it will captivate your hearers. 



THE WEDDING FEE. 




NE morning, fifty years ago — 

When apple-trees were white with snow 
Of fragrant blossoms, and the air 
Was spellbound with the perfume rare — 
Upon a farm horse, large and lean, 

And lazy with its double load, 
A sun-brown youth and maid were seen 
Jogging along the winding road 



2. Blue were the arches of the skies. 
But bluer were that maiden's eyes ! 
The dewdrops on the grass were bright. 
But brighter was the loving light 
That sparkled 'neath each long-fringed lid, 
Where those bright eyes of blue were hid^ 
Adown the shoulders, brown and bare, 
Rolled the soft waves of golden haii. 



rlQ 



RECITATIONS AND LESSON TAI KS. 



3- So on they ride, unlil among 

The new-born leaves with dew-drops hung, 
The parsonage, arrayed in white, 
Peers out — a more tlian welcome sight. 

Then with a cloud upon his face, 
** What shall ue do ? " he turned to say, 
'' Should he refuse to take his pay 

From what is in the pillow case?" 

I. And glancing down his eyes surveyed 
The pillow case before him laid. 
Whose contents reaching to its hem, 
Might purchase endless joys for them. 
The maiden answers : " Let us wait; 

To borrow trouble where's the need ? " 
Then at the parson's squeaking gate 

Halted the more than willing steeJ. 

5. Down from his horse the bridegroom sprung; 
The latchless gate behind him swung. 
The knocker of that startled door, 
Struck as it never was before, 

Brought the whole household, pale with 
fright, 



And there with blushes on his cheek, 
So bashful he could hardly speak, 

The parson met their wondering sight. 

The groom goes in, his errand tells, 
And as the parson nods, he leans 

Far out across the window-sill and yells — 
*'Come in. He says he'll take the beans ! " 

Oh ! how she jumped ! With one glad bound 

She and the bean-bag reached the ground. 

Then, clasping with each dimpled arm 
The precious products of the farm, 
She bears it through the open door, 
And down upon the parlor floor 
Dumps the best beans vines ever bore. 

Ah ! happy were their songs that day, 
When man and wife they rode away ; 
But happier this chorus still 

Which echoed through those woodland 
scenes: 
''God bless the priest of Whittensville ! 

God bless the man who took the beans," 



LESSON TALK. 



The quiet hinnor of this piece stands in strong 
contrast to selections of a tra;^dc character, and if it 
is recited in an easy pleasant way, it is sure to be 
appreciated by all who hear it. Adapt your voice 
and manner, therefore, to the style of narrative. 

1. With the ri;^dit hand extended designate the 
farm horse, large and lean Drawl out the word 
lazy in the next line, and continue this slow utter- 
ance to the end of the verse. 

2. The sentiment clian;,;es in the next verse and 
fcquires more animation. In the first line make the 
gesture shown in Figu.e 21 of Typical (iestu^es, in 
the beginning (jf Part II, of this volume. Uecoine 
more animated as you describe the maiden's eyes 
and the soft waves oi her golden hair. 

3. The young couple reach the ]).trsonage and 
your manner should suggest theirs; they have come 
on very important business. Express the embar- 
rassment of the young man as he asks the question : 
'* What shall we do ? " etc. Give a half look of sur- 
prise as you refer to the contents of the {)illow-case. 

4. In a half tone of rebuke the maiden answers, 
*' Let us wait," saying encouragingly that there is no 



need to borrow trouble. She evidently believes the 
parson will be quite willing to take the fee, 

5. Let your utterance become more rapid as you 
picture the bridegroom springing from the horse. 
With uplifted, clenched hand knock on the door, 
and then portray the half fright of the parson as he 
answers the knock. 

6. Here is an opportunity for a genuine touch of hu- 
mor. Cry out as the young man would to the maiden 
by the gate, " Come in ; he says he'll take the beans '" 
She jumps to the ground. Make the gesture of 
Figure 16 in Typical Gestures. 

7. Act out the effort of carrying the pillow-case 
through the open door and throwing it upon the par- 
lor floor. Do not let your facial expression be too 
serious. You should know how to smile without 
looking silly. 

8. Here again in the first line make the gesture in 
Figure 16, and with elevated pitch and joyous ex- 
pression picture the young couple as they ride away. 
With fervent tones and uplifted hands recite the last 
two lines of the piece. A good recital for a parlor 
entertainment. 



RECITATIONS AND LESSON TALKS. 



Iv7 



THE STATUE IN CLAY. 




AKE me a statue," said the King, 
'' Of marble white as snow; 
It must be pure enough to stand 
Before my throne, at my right hand 
The niche is waiting. Go ! " 

The sculptor heard the King's command 

And went upon his way; 
Ht had no marble, but he meant, 
With willing mind and high intent, 

To mould his thoughts in clay. 

Day after day he wrought in clay, 
But knew not what he wrought ; 
He sought the help of heart and brain. 
But could not make the riddle plain ; 
It lay beyond his thought. 

To-day the statue seemed to grow, 

To-morrow it stood still, 
The third day all went well again ; 
Thus year by year, in joy and pain, 

He served his master's will. 



5. At last his life-long work was done; 

It was a fateful day; 
He took the statue to the King, 
And trembled like a guilty thing. 

Because it was but clay. 

6. " Where is my statue ? " asked the Kin| 

" Here, Lord," the Sculptor said : 
**But I commanded marble." "True. 
I had not that, what could I do 
But mould in clay instead ? " 

7. ** Thou shalt not unrewarded go 

Since thou hast done thy best, 
Thy statue shall acceptance win, 
It shall be as it should have been, 

For I will do the rest." 

8. He touched the statue, and it changed 

The clay falls off, and lo ! 
The marble shape before him stands, 
The perfect work of heavenly hands. 

An angel, pure as snow. 



LESSON TALK. 



The beautiful lesson taught in this selection is ap- 
parent to every one. In reciting it you have, there- 
fore, the advantage of presenting a reading that com- 
mends itself to all hearers, the sentiment of which is 
admirable. The piece will speak for itself, and there is 
a vast difference between a reading of this descrip- 
tion and one that has nothing specially to commend it. 

And here let me say something concerning your 
choice of recitations. First of all, they should be 
adapted to your range of capacity. It is simply gro- 
tesque for one to whom only tragedy is natural to at- 
tempt to recite humorous pieces. On the other hand, 
it is a great mistake for one who is expert in nothing 
but humorous selections to attempt to recite tragedy. 

The error with many readers lies in attempting to 
do that for which they are not naturally fitted. The 
selections in this volume are so diversified that you 
ought to be able to find what is especially suited to 
your ability. 

Nothing is inserted here simply because it is good 
poetry or good prose. There are thousands of read- 
ings and recitations, so called, that do not afford the 
elocutionist any opportunity to display his powers. 



They are a dull monotony from beginning to ena 
They fill the pages of the book, but nobody wants 
them. Every recitation in this volume has been 
chosen because it has some special merit and is 
adapted to call out the powers of the reader. 

1. Taking now the recitation before us you have 
in the first verse the King's command, which you 
should deliver in a tone of authority, extending the 
right hand on the fourth hne. 

And this affords me an opportunity to say that your 
gestures should never be thrust forward or sideways 
in an angular manner, but with something approach- 
ing a curve. Do not make gestures as though you were 
a prize-fighter and were thrusting at an imaginary foe. 
Remember that the line of beauty is always the curve 

2. This verse is narrative and requires a different 
expression from the one preceding it. Extend your 
right hand on the second line in which it is stated 
that the sculptor went upon his way, curving your arm 
outward and then letting it fall gently by your side. 

3. In this verse the sculptor is in perplexity. He 
is trying to study out the riddle, and to express this 
you should use Figure 22 of Typical Gestures. 



128 



RECITATION^ AND LESSON TALKS. 



4 and 5. These verses are also narrative, the only 
thing to be noted being the trembHng timidity of the 
sculptor in the last part of the 5th verse. This 
should be indicated by the tones of your voice and 
general manner, 

6. This is dialogue, and while the inflexions re- 
quired are those of ordinary conversation, do not let 
your manner be too tame. 



7. Make the announcement contained m this versfc 
with evident satisfaction. The last line is emphatic 
and should be spoken with full volume. 

8. Make a pause after the word statue in the first 
line and recite the remainder of this line in a tone ot 
surprise. In the second line make the gesture in 
Figure 13 of Typical Gestures. Let your facial ex^ 
pression indicate satisfaction. 



THE PUZZLED BOY, 




7. 



ELL — whose boy am I, any way "> 
I fell down cellar yesterday, 
And gave my head an awful bump 
(If you had only seen the lump !) 
And Mamma called me when I cried, 
And hugged me close up to her side, 
And said : 'I'll kiss and make it well. 
Mamma's own boy; how hard he fell. 

"When Papa took me out to play 
Where all the men were making hay, 
He put me on old Dobbin's back; 
And when they gave the whip a crack, 
And off he threw me, Papa said, 
(When I got up and rubbed my head, 
And shut my lips, and winked my eyes) 

* Papa's brave boy. He never cries ! ' 



3. ' ' And when I go to Grandma s — welU 

You'd be surprised if I could tell 
Of all the pies and ginger-cakes 
And doughnuts that she always mak^s, 
And all the jam and tarls and such, 
And never says, * Don' t take too much ; 
* Because,' she says, ' he must enjoy 
His visit, for he's Grandma's boy ! ' 

4. ''And Grandpa says: 'I'll give him soon 

A little pony for his own, 
He'll learn to ride it well, i know, 
Because he's Grandpa's boy. Ho ! ho 1 ' 
And plenty other people say: 
'Well, how are you, my boy, to-day?* 
Now, can you tell me, if you try, 
How many little boys am I? " 



I.ESSON TALK. 



This selection is in a lighter vein than the others 
that have gone before. It is adapted to a boy eight 
or ten years old. While the humor is not of a bois- 
terous character, the piece is very pleasing when re- 
cited by a boy who knows how to take in the situa- 
tion and can put on a look of natural surprise. 

Recitations by little people are always interesting 
to older persons. The young should be taught to re- 
cite in public. While this need not make them bold, 
it does give them confidence, which is very desirable 
for them to have. 

Moreover, it helps them to become graceful in man- 
ner if they are properly trained, and takes away the 
awkwardness which makes many young persons ap- 
pear to a disadvantage. Added to all this the cultiva- 
tion of the memory derived from learning recitations, 
and learning them so thoroughly that they cannot be 
forgotten through any temporary embarrassment, and 
you will readily see that the noble art of elocution is 
an essential part of every young person's education. 

The selection before us is not 1 difficult one to re- 



cite. In the first verse emphasis should be placed 
on the word "am,"' and the question should be asked 
in a tone of surprise. Put your hand to your head in 
speaking of that " awful bump." 

In the next verse lift your right hand with a sud- 
den motion and use any gesture with which you can 
best indicate the cracking of the whip. When you 
come to the words " off he threw me,'' use the ges- 
ture in Figure 24 of Typical Gestures. Emphasize 
the word " he " in the last line. 

In verse three open your eyes in half wonder and 
put on an expressive smile as you speak of grandma's 
pies, cakes, doughnuts, tarts, etc. Make it plain that 
you enjoy your visit to grandma's. 

With elevated voice and accents of delight refer 
to the gift of the httle pony in the last verse. Speais. 
the first "hoi'' rather quickly; then prolong the 
sound on the second "ho!" In the last line the 
words " am I ? '' are emphatic. You are puzzled to 
know how many little boys you are. Pause a niAmer* 
and look as if expecting an answer. 



Recitations with Music 



Nothing renders a recitation more ac- 
ceptable to any audience than snatches 
of music, some of the words being sung, 
if the reader has a voice for singing. 
The change from reciting to singing should 
be made easily, and you should be fully 
confident that yott can carry through the 



part to be expressed by the notes ol 
music, and sing the words effectively. 

This will require practice, but will repar 
you for the time spent in preparation. Selec 
tions for song and recital combined are hen 
presented, which cannot fail to captivate your 
audience if they are skillfully rendered. 



TWICKENHAM FERRY. 

The words to be sung, or that should receive the prolonged sound indicated by the notes, are printed 
in italics. Remember you are caUing to some one in the distance. 

d2 



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1. o • 


• hoi 


ye - 


. ho. 


Ho 


- ye - 


ho, 


Who's 


for 


the 


fer - ry? 


2. 


hoi 


ye - ho, 


Ho 


. ye - 


ho, 


I'm 


for 


the 


fer 


- ry. 


3. O ■ 


• hoi 


ye . 


. ho, 


Ho, 


you're 


too 


late 


for 


the 


fer 


■ ly- 




HOI ye-hOy Ho-ye-ho^ Who's for the 

ferry ? 
The briars in bud, the sun is going 
down, 
And I'll row ye so quick and I'll row ye 
so steady, 
And 'tis but a penny to Twickenham 
Town." 



The ferryman's slim and the ferryman's 

young, 
And he's just a soft twang in the turn of 
his tongue. 
And he's fresh as a pippin and brown 
as a berry, 
And 'tis but a penny to Twickenham Town. 
0-hoiye-ho, Ho-ye-ho, Ho-ye-ho, Ho. 



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hoi - ye - ho, 



Ho 



ye - ho. 



Ho - ye 



ho, 



Ho. 



2. ''0-hoi ye-hoy Ho-ye-ho, Pmfor the ferry , 
The briars in bud, the sun going down, 
And it's late as it is, and I haven't a penny, 
And how shall I get me to Twickenham 
Town?" 
She'd a rose in her bonnet, and oh! she 
look'd sweet 



As the little pink flower that grows in the 
wheat, 
With her cheeks like a rose and her 
lips like a cherry, 
"And sure and you're welcome to Twick- 
enham Town." 
O'hoiye-ko, Ho-ye-ho, Ho-ye-ho, Ho. 

129 



130 



RECITATIONS WITH iviUSIC. 



\ 



3. 0-/ioi ye-ho^ Ho, youWe too late for the 
ferry, 
The briars in bud, the sun going 
down, 
And he's not rowing quick and he's not 
rowing steady, 
You'd think 'twas a journey to Twick- 
enham Town. 



" hoi, and ho,'' you may call as you 

will, 
The moon is a rising on Peterham Hill, 
And with love like a rose in the stern 
of the wherry, 
There's danger in crossing to Twickenham 
Town. 
0-hoi ye-ho, Ho-ye-ho, Ho-ye-ho, Ho, 



GRANDMOTHER'S CHAIR. 

The words to be sung are printed in italics. 




|Y grandmother she, at the age of 
eighty-three. 
One day in May was taken ill 
and died ; 

And after she was dead, the will of course 
was read. 
By a lawyer as we all stood by his side. 
Five hundred dollars to my brother did she 
leave, 



When you settle down in life, find some girl 
to be your wife, 
You'll find it very handy, I declare ; 
On a cold and frosty night, when the fire is 
burning bright, 
You can then sit in your old arm chair. 

What my brother said was true, for in a year 
or two. 



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And how they tit - ter'd, how they chaff 'd, How my broth -er and sis - ter laugh'd, 




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When they heard the law - yer de-clare, Gran-ny had on - ly left to me her old arm chair. 



The same unto my sister, I declare ; 
But when it came to me, the lawyer said, * I 
see 
She has left to you her old arm chair." 
And how they tittered, how they chaffed, 
How my brother and sister laughed, 
When they heard the lawyer declare 
Granny had only left to me her old arm chair. 
I thought it hardly fair, still I said I did not 
care. 
And in the evening took the chair away ; 
The neighbors they me chaffed, my brother 
at me laughed. 
And said it will be useful, John, some day: 



Strange to say, I settled down in married 
life; 
I first a girl did court, and then the ring I 
bought, 
Took her to the church, and when she was 
my wife. 
The girl and I were just as happy as could 
be. 
For when my work was over, I declare, 
I ne'er abroad would roam, but each night 
would stay at home, 
And be seated in my old arm chair. 

One night the chair fell down; when I picked 
it up I found 



RECITATIONS WITH MUSIC. 



131 



The seat had fallen out upon the floor ; 
And there to my surprise I saw before my 
eyes, 
Ten thousand dollars tucked away, or 
more. 
When my brother heard of this, the fellow, I 
confess, 



Went nearly mad with rage, and tore his 
hair; 
But I only laughed at him, then said unto 
him, ''Jem, 
Don't you wish you had the old arm 
chair?" John Read. 

\R.epeat words with music^ 



PUT YOUR SHOULDER TO THE WHEEL. 




OME people you've met in your 
time, no doubt, 
Who never look happy or gay ; 
I'll tell you the way to get jolly and stout. 

If you'll listen awhile to my lay. 
I've come here to tell you a bit of my mind. 
And please with the same, if I can ; 



The words to be sung are in italics. 

For there's room in this world for us all. 
" Credit refuse," if you've money to pay. 

You'll find it the wiser plan ; 
And " a dollar laid by for a rainy day," 

Is a motto for every man. 
A coward gives in at the first repulse ; 

A brave man struggles again, 



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So we will sing, and ban - ish mel - an - chol - y, Trou - ble may come, we'll 



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can To drive care a - way for griev-ing is 



do the best we 



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fol - ly, Put your shoul-der to thewheelis a mot -to for ev - 'ry man. 



Advice is my song, you will certainly find. 
And a motto for every man. 

So we will sing, and banish melancholy ; 

Trouble may come, we'll do the best we can 
To drive care away, for grieving is a folly ; 

Put your shoulder to the wheel is a motto for 
evWy man. 

We cannot all fight in this battle of life, 

The weak must go to the wall ; 
So do to each other the thing that is right. 



With a resolute eye and a bounding pulse, 

To battle his way amongst men ; 
For he knows he has only one chance in his 
time 
To better himself, if he can ; 
" So make your hay while the sun doth 
shine," 
That's a motto for every man. 

Harry Clifton. 

[Repeat the part to be sungj] 



132 



RECITATIONS WITH MUSIC. 



fIRED," ah, yes, so tired, dear, the day- 
has been very long, 
But shadowy gloaming draweth near, 
'tis time for the even song. 
I'm ready to go to rest at last, ready to say, 

" Good night ; " 
The sunset glory darkens fast, to-morrow 
will bring me light. 



A BRIGHTER DAY IS COMING. 

The words in italics are to be sung. 

" Tired j' ah, yes, so tired, dear, I shall soundly 

sleep to-night. 
With never a dream, and never a fear, to wake 

in the morning's light. 
It has seemed so long since morning tide, 

and I have been left so lone. 
Young, smiling faces thronged my side when 

the early sunlight shone, 



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Slug once a-gain, "A-bide with me, " That sweet-est ev-'ning hymn, And now "Good-night, "I 

PP languidamente. 



33: 



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can -not see, The light has grown so dim. *'Tir-ed! "ah, yes, so tir - ed, dear! I shall 



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t 
sound-ly sleep to-night, With nev - er a dream, and nev-er a fear, To wake in the morning's light. 



Sing once again, ^^ Abide with me,'' that sweetest 

evening hymn. 
And now ''Good night, ^' I cannot see^ the 

light has grown so dim. 



But they grew tire long ago, and I saw them 

sink to s-est, 
With folded hands and brows of snow, on the 

green earth's mother breast. 

Helen Burnside. 

\Repeat the words with music^ 



KATY'S LOVE LETTER. 

Sing the words printed in italics. 




CH, girls dear, did you ever hear, I 
wrote my love a letter. 
And although he cannot read, sure I 
thought 'twas all the better; 
For why should he be puzzled with hard 
spelling in the matter, 



:i: 



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When the meaning was so plain that I love 
him faithfully? 

I love him faithfully , 
And he knows it, oh, he knows it, without one 
word from me. 



litzit: 



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I love him faith-ful - ly, And he knows it, oh, he knows it, with-out one word from me. 




now A PiJHfiy'ii 



fw. 




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MP r^pp£. (^ 



THE BOY THAT LAUGHS 





^ T[}lRa C0RP5£5 LAYOUT on 





fOR MEN NU5T WORK 
/^flD W0H£/1 MU5T VVe£R 



if 



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THREE FISHERS WENT SAILING 



RECITATIONS WITH MUSIC. 



133 



I wrote it, and I folded it, and put a seal 

upon it ; 
'Twas a seal almost as big as the crown of 

my best bonnet ; 
For I would not have the Postmaster make 

his remarks upon it, 
As I said inside the letter that I loved him 

faithfully, 

/ love him faithfully , 
And he knozvs it, oh, he knows it/ without one 
word from me. 

My heart was full, but when I wrote, I dared 

not put the half in, 
The neighbors know I love him, and they're 

mighty fond of chaffing ; 
And I dared not write his name outside, for 

fear they would be laughing, 



So I wrote, " From little Kate to one whom 
she loves faithfully." 

I love him faithfully , 
And he htows it, oh, he k?iows it ! without one 
word from me. 

Now, girls, would you believe it, that Post- 
man, so consaited, 

No answer will he bring me, so long as 1 
have waited; 

But maybe there isn't one for the raison 
that I stated. 

That my love can neither read nor write, but 
he loves me faithfully. 

He loves me faithfully , 
And I know wherever my love is, that he is 
true to me. 

Lady Dufferin. 



I 



DOST THOU LOVE ME, SISTER RUTH? 

A COMIC DUET. 

The persons who present this recital should appear in Quaker costume and stand near each other, face 
to face. It can be made very amusing. The change from reciting to singing adds greatly to the effect. 
Sing the words in italics, and make appropriate gestures. 

I. Simon. — Dost thou love me. Sister Ruth? 



Say, say, say! 
Ruth.— As I fain would speak the 
truth. 
Yea, yea, yea. 
Simon. 



2. SlMON.- 



-Wilt thou promise to be mine, 
Maiden fair? 
Ruth. — Take my hand, my heart is thine, 
There, there, there. [^Salutes 
her.] 



^^^-=^^=^-^-~ 


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N» 


l-fe^^— ^ — ^ — ^ — ^— 


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i 



Long my heart hath yearn'd for thee, 

Let us thus the bar - gain seal, 

O, how, blest we both should be, 

EUTH. . . ^ 



Pret - ty Sis - ter Euth; 

O, dear me, heigh - ho! 

Hey down, ho down tey ! 



^EE^ 



-g-_^ 



- ^ — |flg- 



=^ 



That has been the case with me, 

Lauk ! how ver - y odd I feel ! 

I could al - most dance with glee, 

Simon. — Loitg my heart hath yearned for 
thee, 

Pretty Sister Ruth ; 
^xiTn.-^That has been the case with me. 

Dear engaging youth. 



Dear en - 


gag 


- ing 


youth ! 


O, dear 


me, 


heigh 


- ho! 


Hey down, 


ho 


down 


hey! 



Simon. — Let us thus the bargain seal. 

O, dear me, heigh-ho / 
Ruth. — -Lauk ! how very odd I feel ! 

Of dear mey heigh-ho ! 



134 



RECITATIONS WITH MUSIC. 



3. Simon. — Love like ours can never cloy, 
Humph ! humph ! humph ! 
Ruth. — While no jealous fears annoy, 
Humph! humph! humph! 



Simon. — (9, how blessed we both should be ^ 
Hey down, ho down, hey ! 

Ruth. — / could almost dance with gleCy 
Hey down, ho down, hey ! 

John Parry. 



i 



TWO LITTLE ROGUES. 




AYS Sammy to Dick, 

" Come, hurry ! come quick ! 
And we'll do, and we'll do, and 
we'll do ! 
Our mammy's away, 
She's gone for to stay. 

And we'll make a great hullabaloo I 
Ri too I ri loo ! loo I loo / loo I loo / 
We'll make a great hullabaloo ! 



Slide down the front stairs ! 
Tip over the chairs ! 

Now into the pantry break 
through ! 
Pull down all the tin-ware, 
And pretty things in there 1 

All aboard for a hullabaloo ! 
Ri too ! ri loo ! loo ! loo / loo ! loo ! 

All aboard for a hullabaloo ! 



fei; 



p^ 



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*=S: 



iffrp: 



ifetrts 



Ri too! ri - loo! loo! loo! loo! loo! We'll make a great hul-la-ba-loo.... 

1^ 




^^ is-t-^ ^ 



P^iilS 



■^-■A-^- 



F51: 




Says Dick to Sam, 
All weddy I am 

To do, and to do, and to do, 
But how doesth it go ? 
I so 'ittle to know. 

That, what be a hullabawoo ? 
Ri too ! ri loo ! woo I woo ! woo I woo ! 

Thay, what be a hullabawoo ? " 

Oh, slammings and hangings, 
And whingings and whangings ; 

And very bad mischief we'll do I 
We'll clatter and shout. 
And knock things about, 

And that's what's a hullabaloo I 
Ri too ! ri loo I loo ! loo I loo ! loo f 

And that's what's a hullabaloo / 



" Now roll up the table, 
Far up as you are able. 

Chairs, sofa, big easy-chair too ! 
Put the lamps and the vases 
In funny old places. 

How's this for a hullabaloo ? 
Ri too / ri loo ! loo I loo I loo / loo / 

How's this for a hullabaloo ? 

" Let the dishes and pans 
Be the womans and mans ; 

Everybody keep still in their pew ; 
Mammy's gown I'll get next. 
And preach you a text. 

Dick ! hush with your hullabaloo ! 
Ri too ! ri loo ! loo I loo ! loo ! loo / 

Dicky! hush with your hullabaloo f* 



RECITATIONS WITH MUSIC. 



13D 



As the preacher in gown 
Climbed up and looked down, 

His queer congregation to view, 
Said Dicky to Sammy, 
Oh, dere comes our mammy ! 
She'll 'pank for dis hullubawoo ! 
Ri too ! ri loo / woo ! woo / woo / woo ! 

She'll 'pank for dis hullabawoo / 



" O mammy ! O mammy ! '* 
Cried Dicky and Sammy, 
"■ We'll never again, certain true ! " 
But with firm step she trod 
To take down the rod — 

Oh, then came a hullabaloo ! 
Bo hoo I bo hoo I woo ! woo / woo ! woo } 
Ohj then came a hullabaloo I 

Mrs. a. M. Diaz. 



ARKANSAW PETE'S ADVENTURE ; 

Arkansaw Pete, a frontier-backwoodsman, who sings the solo. Chorus, three lively city gentlemen. 



Introduction. 

Moderato. 



I 



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Voice. Moderato, 
P Solo. 



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f Chorus. "p Solo. 



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I. NoAV ladies and gents, who here I see, Snap- poo! 



I pray you list - en 



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Chorus. 



Solo. 



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un - to me. Snap 


-poo ! And 


I'll re - late what came to pass when I lived down in 
11 III .11 


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/ Full Chorus. {Snapping fingers.') 



Play tJie Chorus twice 
over for dajtce rotcnd. 



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Ar- lean- sas. Snap- poo - Snap Pe- ter Fi Ian- thi Go Sheeter Snap- "ooo! 



136 



RECITATIONS WITH MUSIC. 




-a^ -^- -^ 

•2. While riding home one Saturday night, 

Snap-poo ! 
I passed Miss Smith's and thought I'd light, 

Snap-poo ! 
So I hitch'd my hoss and in did go. 
Just for to spend an hour or so. 

Chorus {inarching up and down, and snap- 
ping fingers at Pete). 
Snap-poo ! Snap -Peter ! 
Fi-lan-thi-go-shee-ter ! 

Snap-poo ! (Repeat chorus^ 

3. When to the door I had safely got, 

Snap-poo ! 
She came and pok'd her sweet head out, 

Snap-poo ! 
Said she right out, " Why, Mister Pete! 
Oh, do walk in and have a seat ! " 

(Chorus.) 

4. With easy step and a jolly heart, 

Snap-poo ! 
I bounded in just like a dart. 

Snap-poo ! 
And, oh, you may bet, I felt all hunk 
When into a chair by her I sunk. (Chorus. ) 

5. Our chairs got closer as we two rock'd, 

Snap-poo ! 
My throat swell'd up till I most chok'd. 

Snap-poo ! 
At length they struck, and came to a stop — 
Now, now, thinks I, 's the time to "pop ! " 

(Chorus.) 

6. I tried to look in her love-lit eyes, 

Snap-poo ! 
They were clear and blue as summer skies, 
Snap-poo ! 



Not a word could I speak — alas ! poor Pete ! 
Though she lookM good enough to eat. . 

(Chorus.) 

7. I look'd at her, and she look'd at me, 

Snap-poo ! 
I heard my heart say pee-dee-dee. 

Snap-poo ! 
I twisted my chair, and cross'd my feet— 
I'd never seen anything half so sweet. 

(Chorus.) 

8. My tongue grew thick, and my eyes stuck 

out, 

Snap-poo ! 
My hands flew nervously about. 

Snap-poo ! 
And, before I could their motion check. 
They grabb'd that gal right 'round the 
neck! (Chorus.) 

9. She haul'd away with her pretty fist, 
Snap-poo ! 
She gave my jaw an awful twist. 

Snap-poo ! 
It seem'd an hour before I spoke— 
I thought by gum, my head was broke i 

(Chorus.) 

10. The racket we made brought her ma~ma, 

Snap-poo ! 
Who straightway call'd her great pa-pa, 

Snap-poo ! 
He kicked me out — and, you bet, I fled 
That gal won't do, thinks I, to wed ! 

(ChOKU:5.) 



I 



Patriotic Recitations. 

THE BEAT OF THE DRUM AT DAYBREAK. 

opeak the words in italics with full, earnest tones of command. Then change easily to a manner 
suited to animated description. An excellent selection for one who can make these changes effectively. 




HE morning is cheery, my boys, arouse ! 
The dew shines bright on the chestnut 

boughs, 

And the sleepy mist on the river lies, 
Though the east is flushing with crimson dyes. 
Awake ! awake / awake / 
O'er field and wood and brake, 
With glories newly born, 
Comes on the blushing morn. 
Awake / awake / 



You 



homes and 



your 



have dreamed of your 

friends all night ; 
You have basked in your sweethearts' smiles so 

bright : 
Come, part with them all for a while again — 
Be lovers in dreams ; when awake, be men. 



Turn out / ticrn out ! turn out ! 

You have dreamed full long I know, 
Turn out I tur7i out ! turn out f 

The east is all aglow. 
Turn out / turn out I 

From every valley and hill there come 
The clamoring voices of fife and drum ; 
And out on the fresh, cool morning air 
The soldiers are swarming everywhere. 
Fall in ! fall in / fall in / 
Every man in his place. 
Fall in / fall in / fall in f 
Each with a cheerful face. 
Fall in ! fall in I 

Michael O'Connor. 



THE CAVALRY CHARGE. 

Admirably suited to rapid utterance, vivid description and full tones on an elevated key. 
the last lines as you would if you saw the enemy routed on the field of battle. 



Hurrah ia 




ITH bray of the trumpet 
And roll of the drum, 
And keen ring of bugles, 
The cavalry come, 
Sharp clank the steel scabbards, 

The bridle-chains ring, 

And foam from red nostrils 

The wild chargers fling. 

Tramp ! tramp ! o'er the green sward 

That quivers below, 
Scarce held by the curb-bit, 

The fierce horses go ! 
And the grim-visaged colonel, 

With ear-rending shout, 



Peals forth to the squadrons, 
The order—" Trot out." 

One hand on the sabre, 

And one on the rein, 
The troopers move forward 

In line on the plain. 
As rings the word *' Gallop ! ** 

The steel scabbards clank, 
And each rowel is pressed 

To a horse's hot flank : 
And swift is their rush 

As the wild torrent's flow, 
When it pours from the crag 

On the valley below. 

137 



138 



PATRIOTIC RECITATIONS. 



" Charge ! ' ' thunders the leader. 

Like shaft from the bow 
Each mad horse is hurled 

On the wavering foe. 
A thousand bright sabres 

Are gleaming in a")r ; 
A thousand dark horses 

Are dashed on the square. 

Resistless and reckless 

Of aught may betide, 
Like demons, not mortals, 

The wild troopers ride. 
Cut right ! and cut left ! 

For the parry who needs? 
The bayonets shiver 

Like wind-shattered reeds ! 



Vain — vain the red volley 

That bursts from the square- 
The random-shot bullets 

Are wasted in air. 
Triumphant, remorseless, 

Unerring as death, — 
No sabre that's stainless 

Returns to its sheath. 

The wounds that are dealt 
By that murderous steel 

Will never yield case 
For the surgeons to heal 

Hurrah I they are broken- 
Hurrah ! boys, they fly — 

None linger save those 
Who but linger to die. 



THE GREAT NAVAL BATTLE OF SANTIAGO. 

Hold your body erect, but not awkwardly stiff, let every nerve be tense, your voice full and round, and 
let your manner indicate that you have a grand story to relate, as you recite Admiral Schley's thrilling 
description of the great naval battle at Santiago. You are depicting the scene as though you were there 
and yourself won the brilliant victory. 




NE hour before the Spaniards ap- 
peared my quartermaster on the 
Brooklyn reported to me that Cer- 
vera's fleet was coaling up. This v^as just 
what I expected, and we prepared everything 
for a hot reception. Away over the hills 
great clouds of smoke could be faintly seen 
rising up to the sky. A little later and the 
smoke began to move towards the mouth of 
the harbor. The black cloud wound in and 
out along the narrow channel, and every eye 
on board the vessels in our fleet strained 
with expectation. 

The sailor boys were silent for a full hour 
and the grim old vessels lay back like tigers 
waiting to pounce upon their prey. Sud- 
denly the whole Spanish fleet shot out of the 
mouth of the channel. It was the grandest 
spectacle I ever witnessed. The flames were 
pouring out of the funnels, and as it left the 
channel the fleet opened fire w'th every gun 



on board. Their guns were worked as rap- 
idly as possible, and shells were raining 
around like hail. 

It was a grand charge. My first impres- 
sion was that of a lot of maddened bulls, 
goaded to desperation, dashing at their tor- 
mentors. The storm of projectiles and shells 
was the hottest imaginable. I wondered 
where they all came from. Just as the ves- 
sels swung around the Brooklyn opened up 
with three shells, and almost simultaneously 
the rest of the fleet fired. Our volley was a 
terrible shock to the Spaniards, and so sur-= 
prised them that they must have been badly 
rattled. 

When our fleet swung around and gave 
chase, we not only had to face the fire from 
the vessels, but were bothered by a cross- 
fire from the forts on either side, which 
opened on our fleet as soon as the Span- 
iards shot out of the harbor. The engage- 



PATRIOTIC RECITATIONS. 



139 



I 



ment lasted three hours, but i hardly knew 
what time was. I remember crashing holes 
through the Spanish Admiral's flagship, the 
Maria Teresa, and giving chase to the Colon. 

I was on the bridge of the Brooklyn 
during the whole engagement, and at times 
the smoke was so dense that I could not see 
three yards ahead of me. The shells from 
the enemy's fleet were whistling around and 
bursting everywhere, except where they 
could do some damage. I seemed to be the 
only thing on the vessel not protected by 
heavy armor, and oh ! how I would have 
liked to get behind some of that armor ! 

I don't know how I kept my head, but I 
do know that I surprised myself by seeing 
and knowing all that was going on, and I 
could hear my voice giving orders to do just 
what my head thought was right, while my 
heart was trying to get beneath the shelter of 
the armored deck. How do I account for 



such a victory with so little loss? That 
would mean how do I account for the rain 
of Spanish shell not doing more execution ? 
They fought nobly and desperately, but they 
were not a match for our Yankee officers 
and sailors. 

I was proud of the boys in our fleet during 
that engagement. They knew just what, 
their guns could do, and not one shot was 
wasted. Their conduct was wonderful. It 
was inspiring. It was magnificent. Men 
who can stand behind big guns and face a 
black storm of shells and projectiles as coolly 
as though nothing was occurring ; men who 
could laugh because a shell had missed hit- 
ting them ; men who could bet one another 
on shots and lay odds in the midst of the 
horrible crashing ; men who could not 
realize that they were in danger — such men 
are wonders, and we have a whole navy of 
wonders. Admiral W. S. Schley. 



HOBSON'S DARING DEED, 



Let your tones of voice be strong and bold, not boisterous, and give to the most spirited lines full force. 
You are depicting a daring deed, and it must not be done in a weak, timid, hesitating way, but with strong 
utterance and emphasis. The sinking of the steam coUier Merrimac was a famous exploit. 

fHUNDER peal and roar and rattle of the 
ships in line of battle, 
Rumbling noise of steel volcanoes hurl- 
ing metal from the shore, 
Drowned the sound of quiet speaking and the 
creaking, creaking, creaking 
Of the steering-gear that turned her toward 
the narrow harbor door. 



On the hulk was calm and quiet, deeper for the 
shoreward riot; 
Dumb they watched the fountain streaming; 
mute they heard the waters hiss, 
Till one laughed and murmured, ^' Surely it was 
worth while rising early 
For a fireworks exhibition of such character as 
this." 



Down the channel the propeller drove her as 
they tried to shell her 
From the drizzy heights of Morro and Socapa 
parapet ; 
She was torn and she was battered, and her upper 
works were shattered 
By the bursting of the missiles that in air 
above her met. 

Parallels of belching cannon marked the winding 
course she ran on. 
And they flashed through morning darknesd 
like a giant's flaming teeth ; 
Waters steaming, boiling, churning; rows of 
muzzles at each turning ; 
Mines like geysers spouting after and before 
her and beneath. 



140 



PATRIOTIC RECITATIONS. 



Not a man was there who faltered; not a theory | And they won. But greater giory tuan the wK 



was altered 
Of the detailed plan agreed on — not a doubt 

was there expressed ; 
This was not a time for changing, deviating, 

re-arranging ; 
Let the great God help the wounded, and 

their courage save the rest. 



ning is the story 
Of the foeman's friendly greeting of that 

valiant captive band ; 
Speech of his they understood not, talk to him 

in words they could not ; 
But their courage spoke a language that all 

men might understand. 



)(£: — ' P-- 



GENERAL WHEELER AT SANTIAGO. 

"Fighting Joe," as he was familiarly called, was one of the most conspicuous and heroic figures 
in the batdes fought around Santiago. Recite this tribute to the hero with feeling, and show by looks, 
tones and gestures that you appreciate the patriotism and valor of the famous commander of cavalry. 

IN'x'O the thick of the fight he went, pallid As with flashing eyes and gleaming sword, and 
and sick and wan. hair and beard of snow, 



iTxO the thick of the fight 
and sick and wan. 
Borne in an ambulance to the 
ghwtly wisp of a man; 
But the fighting soul of a fighting man, approved 

in the long ago, 
Went to the front in that ambulance, and the 
body of Fighting Joe. 

Out -^rom the front they were coming back, smit- 
ten of Spanish shells — 

Wounded boys from the Vermont Hills and the 
Alabama dells ; 

" Put them into this ambulance ; I'll ride to the 
front," he said, 

And he climbed to the saddle and rode right on, 
that little old ex-Confed. 

*?rom end to end of the long blue ranks rose up 

the ringing cheers, 
/*And many a powder-blackened face was furrowed 

with sudden tears, 



Imo the hell of shot and shell rode little old 
Fighting Joe ! 

Sick with fever and racked with pain, he could 

not stay away. 
For he heard the song of the yester-years in the 

deep-mouthed cannon's bay — 
He heard in the calling song of the guns there 

was work for him to do. 
Where his country*s best blood splashed and 

flowed 'round the old Red, White and Blue. 

Fevered body and hero heart J This Union's 

heart to you 
Beats out in love and reverence — and to each 

dear boy in blue 
Who stood or fell 'mid the shot and shell, and 

cheered in the face of the foe, 
As, wan and white, to the heart of the fight rod£ 

little old Fighting Joe ! 

James Lindsay Gordon 



THE FLAG 

'ATS off! 

Along the street there comes 
A blare of bugles, a ruffle of drums, 
A flash of color beneath the sky: 
Hats off! 
The flag is passing by ! 
Blue and crimson and white it shines 




GOES BY. 

Over the steel-tipped, ordered lines. 

Hats off"! 
The colors before us fly i 
But more than the flag is passing by, 
Sea-fights and land-fights grim and great 
Fought to make and to save the state ; 
Cheers of victory on dying lips; 



I^9iHH^HHHk^^!s^ 





oodard 





pjjUPo mRo 




With her waves of goldeu hair 

Floatiug free, 
Hilda ran along the shore, 
Gazing oft the waters o'er; 
And the fishermen replied: 
'He will come in with the tide/ 
As they saw her golden hair 

Floating free ! 



L 




?^Pw>v 



s 



THE NEW COOK. 

'Will you iver be done wid your graneness/ 3he 
axed me wid a loud scrame." 



PATRIOTIC RECITATIONS. 



141 



Weary marches and sinking ships; 
Days of plenty and years of peace 
March of a strong land's swift increase; 
Equal justice, right and law, 
Stately honor and reverend awe ; 



Sign of a nation great and strong. 
To ward her people from foreign wrong ; 
Pride and glory and honor, all 
Live in the colors to stand or falL 
Hats off 1 



IN MANILA BAY. 

A graphic description of the great naval battle of Manila and Admiral Dewey's overwhelming victory. 
Unless this recital is delivered in an animated, exultant manner, and with great oratorical force, the grand 
power of the description will be weakened, if not entirely lost. Put your whole soul into it. 




N the broad Manila Bay 
The Spanish cruisers lay, 

In the shelter of their forts upon 
the shore ; 
And they dared their foes to sail 
Through the crashing iron hail 

Which the guns from decks and battlements 
would pour. 

All the harbor ways were missed. 
And along the channel blind 

Slept the wild torpedoes, dreaming dreams 
of wrath. 
Yea ! the fiery hates of hell 
Lay beneath the ocean's swell, 

Like a thousand demons ambushed in the 
path. 

Breasting fierce Pacific gales, 
Lo ! a little squadron sails. 

And the Stars and Stripes are noating from 
its spars. 
It is friendless and alone. 
Aids and allies it has none. 

But a dauntless chorus sings its dauntless 
tars : 

''We're ten thousand miles from home; 
Ocean's wastes and wave and foam 

Shut us from the land we love so far away. 
We have ne'er a friendly port 
For retreat as last resort, 

But we'll beard the ships of Spain in their 
own bay. 

'*They have mines beneath the sea. 
They have forts upon their lee, 



They have everything to aid them in the 
fray; 
But we'll brave their hidden mines. 
And we'll face their blazing lines; 

Yes ! We'll beard the ships of Spain in 
their own bay. 

If we're worsted in the fight, 
We shall perish in the right — 

No hand will wipe the dews of death away. 
The wounded none will tend, 
For we've not a single friend ; 

But we'll beard the ships of Spain in their 
own bay. 
No ironclads we sail, 
Only cruisers light and frail, 

With no armor plates to turn the shells 
away. 
All the battleships now steer 
In another hemisphere, 

But we'll beard the ships of Spain in their 
own bay. 
Ho ! Remember now the Maine ! 
Up ! And smite the ships of Spain ! 

Let them not forget for years this first of 
May ! 
Though hell blaze up from beneath, 
Forward through the cannon's breath, 

When Dewey leads into Manila Bay.'^ 

There, half-way round the world. 

Swift and straight the shots were hurled. 

And a handful of bold sailors won the day. 
Never since earth was begun 
Has a braver deed been done 

Than when Dewey sailed into Manila Bay. 



142 



PATRIOTIC RECITATIONS. 



God made for him a path 
Through the mad torpedoes' wrath, 

From their slumbers never wakened into 
play. 
When dawn smote the east with gold, 
Spaniards started to behold 

Dewey and his gallant fleet within ther bay. 

Then from forts and warships first 
Iron maledictions burst, 

And the guns with tongues of flame began 
to pray : 
Like demons out of hell 
The batteries roar and yell, 

While Dewey answers back across the bay. 



O Gods ! it was a sight, 

Till the smoke, as black as night. 

Hid the fire-belching ships from light of day. 
When it lifted from the tide, 
Smitten low was Spanish pride, 

And Dewey was the master of their bay,, 

Where the awful conflict roared. 
And red blood in torrents poured. 

There the Stars and Stripes are waving high 
to-day. 
Dewey ! Hero strong and grand ! 
Shout his name through every land ! 

For he sunk the ships of Spain in their own 
bay. Charles Wadsworth, Jk. 



^..o^...^ 



m 



MY SOLDIER BOY. 



when 



morning 



HEN night comes on, 
breaks, they rise, 
Those earnest prayers by faithful lips 
oft said, 
And pierce the blue which shrouds the inner skies : 
**God guard my boy; God grant he is not 
dead!" 
'•' My soldier boy — where is he camped to-night? ' 
" God guard him waking, sleeping or in fight ! " 

Far, far away where tropic suns cast down 

Their scorching rays, where sultry damp airs rise 



And haunting breath of sickness holds its own, 

A homesick boy, sore wounded, suffering lies, 
" Mother ! Mother ! " is his ceaseless cry. 
" Come, mother, come, and see me ere I die ! " 

Where is war's glory? Ask the trumpet's blare. 
The marching columns run to bitter strife ; 

Ask of the raw recruit who knows as yet 

Naught of its horrors, naught of its loss of life; 

Ask not the mother ; weeping for her son. 

She knows the heart-aches following victories 
won. 



THE YANKEES IN BATTLE, 



'^OR courage and dash there is no par 
allel in history to this action of the 
Spanish Admiral. He came, as he 
knew, to absolute destruction. There was 
one single hope. That was that the Spanish 
ship Cristobal Colon would steam faster than 
the American ship Brooklyn. The spectacle 
of two torpedo-boat destroyers, paper shells 
at best, deliberately steaming out in broad 
daylight in the face of the fire of battleships 
can only be described in one way. It was 
Spanish, and it was ordered by the Spanish 



General Blanco. The same may be said of 
the entire movement. 

In contrast to the Spanish fashion was the 
cool, deliberate Yankee work. The Ameri- 
can squadron was without sentiment appa- 
rently. The ships went at their Spanish 
opponents and literally tore them to pieces. 
Admiral Cervera was taken aboard the Iowa 
from the Gloucester, which had rescued him, 
and he was received with a full Admiral's 
guard. The crew of the Iowa crowded aft 
over the turrets, half naked and black with 



I 



PATRIOTIC RECITATIONS. 



14? 



powder, as Cervera stepped over the side 
bareheaded. The crew cheered vociferously. 
The Admiral submitted to the fortunes of 
war with a grace that proclaimed him a 
thoroughbred. 

The officers of the Spanish ship Vizcaya 
said they simply could not hold their crews 
at the guns on account of the rapid fire 
poured upon them. The decks were flooded 
with water from the fire hose, and the blood 
from the wounded made this a dark red. 
Fragments of bodies floated in this along 
the gun deck. Every instant the crack of 
exploding shells told of new havoc. 

The torpedo boat Ericsson was sent by 
the flagship to the help of the Iowa in the 
rescue of the Vizcaya's crew. Her men saw 
a terrible sight. The flames, leaping out 
from the huge shot holes in the Vizcaya's 
sides, licked up the decks, sizzling the flesh 
of the wounded who were lying there 
shrieking for help. Between the frequent ex- 
plosions there came awful cries and groans 
irom the men pinned in below. This car- 
nage was chiefly due to the rapidity of the 
American fire. 



From two 6-pounders 400 shells were fired 
in fifty minutes. Up in the tops the ma- 
rines banged away with i -pounders, too ex- 
cited to step back to duck as the shells 
whistled over them. One gunner of a sec- 
ondary battery under a 12-inch gun was 
blinded by smoke and saltpetre from the 
turret, and his crew were driven off, but 
sticking a wet handkerchief over his face, 
with holes cut for his eyes, he stuck to his 
gun. 

Finally, as the 6-pounders were so close 
to the 8-inch turret as to make it impossi- 
ble to stay there with safety, the men were 
ordered away before the big gun was fired,, 
but they refused to leave. When the 3-inch 
gun was fired, the concussion blew two 
men of the smaller gun's crew ten feet 
from their guns and threw them to the 
deck as deaf as posts. Back they went 
again, however, and were again blown away, 
and finally had to be dragged away from 
their stations. Such bravery and such dog- 
ged determination under the heavy fire were 
of frequent occurrence on all the ships en- 
gaged. Captain R. D. Evans. 



@N><:}® £:=--*• 



THE BANNER BETSEY MADE. 

The first American flag, including the thirteen stars and stripes, was made by Mrs. Betsey Ross, a. 
Quaker lady of Philadelphia. Recite these lines in an easy, conversational manner, yet with animation. 
In this and similar recitations never let your voice sink down into your throat, as if you were just ready ta 
faint away. Your delivery should never be dull, least of all in patriotic pieces. 




E have nicknamed it ^' Old Glory" 
As it floats upon the breeze, 
Rich in legend, song and story 
On the land and on the seas; 
Far above the shining river, 

Over mountain, glen and glade 
With a fame that lives forever 
Streams the banner Betsey made. 

Once it went from her, its maker, 
To the glory of the wars, 



Once the modest little Quaker 
Deftly studded it with stars ; 

And her fingers, sv/iftly flying 

Through the sunshine and the shade> 

Welded colors bright, undying, 
In the banner Betsey made. 

When at last her needle rested 

And her cherished work was done 

Went the banner, love invested, 
To the camps of Washington ; 



144 



PATRIOTIC RECITATIONS. 



And the glorious continentals 
In the monnng light arrayed 

Stood in ragged regimentals 

'Neath the banner Betsey made. 

How they cheered it and its maker, 

They the gallant sons of Mars, 
How they blessed the little Quaker 

And her flag of stripes and stars ; 
'Neath its folds, the foemen scorning, 

Glinted bayonets and blade. 
And the breezes of the morning 

Kissed the banner Betsey made. 

Years have passed, but still in glory 
With a pride we love to see, 

Laureled with a nation's glory 
Waves the emblem of the free ; 

From the rugged pines of Northland 
To the deepening everglade, 



In the sunny heart of Southland 
Floats the banner Betsey made. 

A protector all have found it 

And beneath it stands no skve. 
Freemen brave have died around it 

On the land and on the wave ; 
In the foremost front of battle 

Borne by heroes not afraid, 
'Mid the musket's rapid rattle, 

Soared the banner Betsey made. 

Now she sleeps whose fingers flying 

With a heart to freedom true 
Mingled colors bright, undying — 

Fashioned stars and field of blue; 
It will lack for no defenders 

When the nation's foes invade. 
For our country ose to splendor 

*Neath the banner Betsey made. 

T. C. Harbaugkl 



1 




OUR 

OW can the world once more the glory see 
Of this our flag, emblem of liberty. 
{f) V Now can the tyrant quake with direst 

fear 
As o'er his land our banners shall appear. 

No selfish aim shall lead our flag astray, 

No base desire shall point our banner's way ; 

Each star has told a tale of noble deed, 

Each stripe shall mean from strife a nation free. 

Our glorious past when first with thirteen stars 
On field of blue with white and bright red bars, 
Our flag led on in battle's fierce array, 
And freed the land from mighty Britain's sway. 



FLAG. 

And since this time when first it was unfurled. 
Our flag has proved the noblest in the world. 
From Cuba's shore out to Manila Bay 
Its mighty folds protecting fly to-day. 

Beneath this flag with patriotic pride 
For freedom's cause great men have aiadiy died 
Our noblest sons beneath its folds so free 
In conflict died for Cuba's liberty. 

Float on, dear flag, our nation's greatest joy, 
Thy starry folds no despot shall destroy; 
Stretcri out thy arms till war forever cease, 
And all the world is universal peace. 

Chas. F. Alsop. 



THAT STARRY FLAG OF OURS. 



NFURL the starry banner, 
rill with loving eyes we view 
The stars and stripes we honor 
And the folds of azure blue 

'Tis the pride of all our nation 
And the emblem of its powers — 




The gem of all creation 
Is that starry flag of ours,. 

Then raise aloft " Old Glory/' 
And its colors bright surround, 

In battle fierce and gory, 

Or in peace with honor bound. 



PATRIOTIC RECITATIONS. 



Ub 



Let it float from spire and steeple, 

And from house-tops, masts and towers, 

For the banner of the people 
Is that starry flag of ours. 

Now, behold it, bright and peerless, 
In the light of freedom's sky; 



See its colors floating, fearless 
As the eagle soaring high. 

And amid the cannon's rattle 
And the bullets' deadly showers. 

Ten million men will battle 
For that starry flag of ours. 



THE NEGRO SOLDIER. 

In reciting this piece give stress and emphasis to the words, ''the Tenth at La Quasina." You are 
praising the valor of this regiment, and should not do it in a doubtful or hesitating manner. 




E used to think the negro didn't count 

for very much — 
Light-fingered in the melon patch, and 
chicken yard, and such ; 
Much mixed in point of morals and absurd in 

point of dress. 
The butt of droll cartoonists and the target of 

the press ; 
But we've got to reconstruct our views on color, 
more or less, 

Now we know about the Tenth at La 
Quasi na ! 
When a rain of shot was falling, with a song 

upon his lips. 
In the horror where such gallant lives went out 

in death's eclipse. 
Face to face with Spanish bullets, on the slope 
of San Juan, 



The negro soldier showed himself another type 

of man ; 
Read the story of his courage, coldly, carelessly, 

who can — 

The story of the Tenth at La Quasina ! 

We have heaped the Cuban soil above their 

bodies, black and white — 
The strangely sorted comrades of that grand and 

glorious fight — 
And many a fair-skinned volunteer goes whole 

and sound to-day 
For the succor of the colored troops, the battle 

records say, 
And the feud is done forever, of the blue coat 

and the gray — 

All honor to the Tenth at La Quasina ! 

B. M. Channing. 



DEEDS OF VALOR AT SANTIAGO- 

To be delivered with full, ringing tones. You are an exultant patriot, picturing the glorious deeds of 
our American army. This selection affords opportunity for very effective gestures. 

And down with its crown of guns a-frown looks 




HO cries that the days of daring are 
those that are faded far. 
That never a light burns planet-bright 
to be hailed as the hero's star? 
Let the deeds of the dead be laureled, the brave 

of the elder years. 
But a song, we say, for the men of to-day who 
have proved themselves their peers ! 

High in the vault of the tropic sky is the garish 
eye of the sun, 

(lO-X) 



the hill-top to be won ; 
There is the trench where the Spaniard lurks, 

his hold and his hiding-place, 
And he who would cross the space between must 

meet death face to face. 

The black mouths belch and thunder, and the 

shrapnel shrieks and flies ; 
Where are the fain and the fearless, the lads with 

the dauntless eyes ? 



146 



PATRIOTIC RECITATIONS. 



Will the moment find them wanting ! Nay, but 

with valor stirred ! 
Like the leashed hound on the coursing-ground 

they wait but the warning word. 

'^Charge!" and the line moves forward, moves 

with a shout and a swing, 
■ While sharper far than the cactus-thorn is the 

spiteful bullet's sting. 
Now they are out in the open, and now they are 

breasting the slope, 
While into the eyes of death they gaze as into the 

eyes of hope. 

Never they wait nor waver, but on they clamber 
and on, 



With '* Up with the flag of the stripes and stars, 
and down with the flag of the Don !" 

What should they bear through the shot-rent air 
but rout to the ranks of Spain, 

For the blood that throbs in their hearts is the 
blood of the boys of Anthony Wayne ! 

See, they have taken the trenches! Where are 

the foemen ? G one ! 
And now * * Old Glory ' ' waves in the breeze from 

the heights of San Juan ! 
And so, while the dead are laureled, the brave of 

the elder years, 
A song, we say, for the men of to-day who have 

proved themselves their peers ! 

Clinton Scollard. 



A RACE FOR DEAR LIFE. 



(5 I HE battleships Brooklyn, Oregon and 
* I Texas pushed ahead after the Spanish 
ships Colon and Almirante Oquendo, 
which were now running the race of their 
lives along the coast. When Admiral Cer- 
vera's flagship, the Almirante Oquendo, sud- 
denly headed in shore, she had the Brooklyn 
and Oregon abeam and the Texas astern. 
The Brooklyn and Oregon pushed on after 
the Cristobal Colon, which was making fine 
time, and which looked as if she might es- 
cape, leaving the Texas to finish the Almi- 
rante Oquendo. This work did not take 
long. The Spanish ship was already burn- 
ing. Just as the Texas got abeam of her 
she was shaken by a loud and mighty ex- 
plosion. 

The crew of the Texas started to cheer. 
" Don^t cheer, because the poor devils are 
dying !" called Captain Philip, and the Texas 
left the Almirante Oquendo to her fate to 
join in the chase of the Cristobal Colon. 

That ship, in desperation, was ploughing 
the waters at a rate that caused the fast 
Brooklyn trouble. The Oregon made great 
speed for a battleship, and the Texas made 



the effort of her life. Never since her trial 
trip had she made such time. The Brooklyn 
might have proved a match to the Cristobal 
Colon in speed, but was not supposed to be 
her match in strength. 

It would never do to allow even one of the 
Spanish ships to get away. Straight into the 
west the strongest chase of modern times 
took place. The Brooklyn headed the pur- 
suers. She stood well out from the shore 
in order to try to cut off the Cristobal Colon 
at a point jutting out into the se*^ far ahead. 
The Oregon kept a middle course about a 
mile from the cruiser. The Desperate Don 
ran close along the shore, and now and then 
he threw a shell of defiance. The old Texas 
kept well up in the chase under forced 
draught for over two hours. 

The fleet Spaniard led the Americans a 
merry chase, but she had no chance. The 
Brooklyn gradually forged ahead, so that 
the escape of the Cristobal Colon was cut off. 
The Oregon was abeam of the Colon then, 
and the gallant Don gave it up. He headed 
for the shore, and five minutes later down 
came the Spanish flag. None of our ship:* 






PATRIOTIC RECITATIONS. 



147 



were then within a mile of her, but her es- 
cape was cut off. The Texas, Oregon and 
Brooklyn closed in on her, and stopped their 
engines a few hundred yards away. 

With the capture of the Cristobal Colon 



the battle was ended, and there was great victory." 



rejoicing on all our ships. Meantime the 
New York, with Admiral Sampson on 
board, and the Vixen were coming up on 
the run. Commodore Schley signalled to 
Admiral Sampson : " We have won a great 



PATRIOTISM OF AMERICAN WOMEN. 



(^ I HE maid who binds her warrior's sash 
i I With smile that well her pain dissembles, 
-^ The while beneath her di coping lash 
One starry tear-drop hangs and trembles, 
Though heaven alone records the tear, 

And fame shall never know her story, 
Her heart has shed a drop as dear 
As e'er bedewed the field of glory ! 

The wife who girds her husband's sword, 
Mid little ones who weep or wonder, 

And bravely speaks the cheering word, 
What though her heart be rent asunder, 



Doomed nightly in her dreams to hear 
The bolts of death around him rattle. 

Hath shed as sacred blood as e'er 
Was poured upon the field of battle ! 

The mother who conceals her grief 

While to her breast her son she presses, 
Then breathes a few brave words and brief. 

Kissing the patriot brow she blesses, 
With no one but her secret God 

To know the pain that weighs upon her 
Sheds holy blood as e'er the sod 

Received on Freedom's field of honor ! 
Thomas Buchanan Read 



OUR COUNTRY'S CALL. 

There is a strain of gladness, a tone of rejoicing in this selection, which requh-es a spirited de- 
livery and full volume of voice. Patriotic emotions should always be expressed in an ex-ultant,, 
joyous manner by voice, attitude and gestures. 



(^ I HE clouds grew dark as the people paused, 
< I A people of peace and toil, 

-■- And there came a cry from all the sky : 
** Come, children of mart and soil, 

Your mother needs you — hear her voice ; 
Though she has not a son to spare, 

She has spoken the word that ye all have heard, 
Come, answer ye everywhere ! " 

They need no urging to stir them on. 

They yearn for no battle cry ; 
At the word that their country calls for men 
They throw down hammer and scythe and pen, 

And are ready to serve and die ! 
From the North, from the South, from East, from 
West, 

Hear the thrill of the rumbling drum ! 



Under one flag they march along, 
With their voices swelling a single song, 

Here they come, they come, they come ! 
List ! the North men cheer the men from the Souti 

And the South returns the cheer; 
There is no question of East or West, 
For hearts are a-tune in every breast, 

'Tis a nation answering here. 

It is elbow to elbow and knee to knee, 

One land for each and for all, 
And the veterans' eyes see their children rise 

To answer their country's call. 
They have not forgotten — God grant not so ! 

(Ah, we know of the graves on the hill.) 
But these eager feet make the old hearts beat. 

And the old eyes dim and fill ! 



148 



PATRIOTIC RECITATIONS. 



The Past sweeps out, and the Present comes — 

A Present that all have wrought ! 
And the sons of these sires, at the same camp- 
fires, 
Cheer one flag where their fathers fought ! 
Yes, we know of the graves on the Southern 
hills 
That are filled with the Blue and the Gray. 



We know how they fought and how they died, 
We honor them both there side by side, 

And they're brothers again to-day. 
Brothers again — thank God on high ! 

(Here's a hand-clasp all around.) 
The sons of one race now take their place 

On one common and holy ground. 

Richard Barry. 



:@S><^C 



THE STORY OF SEVENTY=SIX, 




HA r heroes from the woodland sprung, 
When, through the fresh awakened 
land. 

The thrilling cry of freedom rung, 
And to the work of warfare strung 
The yeoman's iron hand ! 

Hills flung the cry to hills around, 
And ocean-mart replied to mart. 
And streams, whose springs were yet unfound. 
Pealed far away the startling sound 
Into the forest's heart. 

Then marched the brave from rocky steep. 

From mountain river swift and cold ; 
The borders of the stormy deep, 
The vales where gathered waters sleep. 
Sent up the strong and bold — 

As if the very earth again 

Grew quick with God's creating breath. 



And, from the sods of grove and glen, 
Rose ranks of lion-hearted men 
To battle to the death. 

The wife, whose babe first smiled that day. 

The fair fond bride of yestereve. 
And aged sire and matron gray. 
Saw the loved warriors haste away, 
And deemed it sin to grieve. 

Already had the strife begun; 

Already blood on Concord's plain 
Along the springing grass had run, 
And blood had flowed at Lexington, 

Like brooks of April rain. 

That death-stain on the vernal sward 
Hallowed to freedom all the shore; 

In fragments fell the yoke abhorred — 

The footstep of a foreign lord 
Profaned the soil no more. 

W. C. Bryant. 



THE ROLL CALL. 

Speak the names of persons in this recitation, exactly as you would if you were the 
calling the roll, or the private in the ranks who is answering. The general character of 
lection is pathetic ; recite it with subdued and tender force. 



orderly 
the se- 



T^ORPORAL GRE 
I kJ cried ; 
\A^^ ''Here!'* w 



GREEN!" the orderly 



was the answer, loud 
and clear, 

From the lips of a soldier who stood near, 
And " Here ! " was the word the next replied. 

*' Cyrus Drew ! " — then a silence fell— 
This time no answer followed the call; 



Only his rear man had seen him fall, 
Killed or wounded he could not tell. 

There they stood in the falling light. 

These men of battle^ with grave, dark looks, 
As plain to be read as open books. 

While slowly gathered the shades of night. 

The fern on the hill-side was splashed with blood, 
And down in the corn where the poppies grew, 



I ; 



PATRIOTIC RECITATIONS. 



149 



Were redder stains than the poppies knew ; 
And crimson dyed was the river's flood. 

For the foe had crossed from the other side, 
That day in the face of a murderous fire, 
That swept them down in its terrible ire ; 

And their life-blood went to color the tide. 

" Herbert Kline ! " At the call, there came 
Two stalwart soldiers into the line. 
Bearing between them this Herbert Kline, 

Wounded and bleeding to answer his name. 

*' Ezra Kerr ! " — and a voice answered " Here I " 
" Hiram Kerr! " — but no man replied. 
They were brothers, these two, the sad wind 
sighed. 

And a shudder crept through the cornfield near. 



" Ephraira Deane \ *' — then a soldier spoke; 
^'Deane carried our Regiment's colors," he 

said ; 
*' Where our Ensign was shot, I left him 
dead. 
Just after the enemy wavered and broke. 

*' Close to the roadside his body lies. 

I paused a moment and gave him a drink. 

He murmured his mother's name I think, 
And death came with it and closed his eyes." 

*Twas a victory ; yes, but it cost us dear — 
For that company's roll, when called at 

night, 
Of A HUNDRED men who went into the fight 

The number was few that answered ^* Here I " 



THE BATTLE=FIELD. 

This striking poem is an American classic. Two lines alone, if there were no others, are enough to 
give it immortal fame : 

" Truth crushed to earth, shall rise again ; 
The eternal years of God are hers.'* 




NCE this soft turf, this rivulet's sands, 
Were trampled by a hurrying crowd. 
And fiery hearts and armed hands 
Encountered in the battle cloud. 

Ah ! never shall the land forget 

How gushed the life-blood of her brave, 
Gushed, warm with hope and courage yet, 

Upon the soil they sought to save. 

Now all is calm, and fresh, and still. 
Alone the chirp of flitting bird, 

And talk of children on the hill, 

And bell of wandering kine are heard. 

Soon rested those who fought ; but thou 
Who mightiest in the harder strife 

For truths which men receive not now. 
Thy warfare only ends with life. 

k friendless warfare ! lingering long 
Through weary day and weary year. 

A wild and many-weaponed throng 

Hang on thy front, and flank, and rear. 



Yet nerve thy spirit to the proof. 
And blench not at thy chosen lot. • 

The timid good may stand aloof, 

The sage may front — yet faint thou not. 

Nor heed the shaft too surely cast. 
The foul and hissing bolt of scorn ; 

For with thy side shall dwell, at last, 
The victory of endurance born. 

Truth, crushed to earth, shall rise again i 
The eternal years of God are hers ; 

But Error, wounded, writes with pain, 
And dies among his worshippers. 

Yea, though thou lie upon the dust. 

When they who helped thee flee in fear, 

Die full of hope and manly trust. 
Like those who fell in battle here. 

Another hand thy sword shall wield. 
Another hand the standard wave, 

Till from the trumpet's mouth is pealed 
The blast of triumph o'er thy grave. 

W. C. Bryant. 



150 



PATRIOTIC RECITATIONS. 



THE SINKING OF THE MERRIMAC. 

The sinking of the ship Merrimac at the mouth of Santiago harbor, by Lieutenant Hobson, was 
one of the most daring exploits on record. It is here told in his own words, Although this selection 
is simple narrative, you should recite it in a spirited manner, with strong tones of voice, and show by 
your demeanor and expression that your are relating an event worthy of admiration. 

The figures printed in the text refer you to the corresponding numbers in " Typical Gestures," 
near the beginning of Part II. of this volume. Use other gestures that are appropriate, not in a stiff 
awkward way, but gracefully, making them appear, not forced, but natural. 

I DID not miss the entrance to the har- 
bor, I turned east until I got my 

in. 



DID not 
bon I 

bearings and then made ^ for it, straight 
Then came the firing. It was grand, " 
flashing out first from one side of the harbor 
and then from the other, from those big guns ^ 
on the hills, the Spanish ship Vizcaya, lying 
inside the harbor, joining in. 

Troops from Santiago had rushed down 
when the news of the Merrimac's coming 
was telegraphed and soon lined the foot of 
the cliff, firing wildly across and killing each 
other with the cross fire. The Merrimac's 
steering gear broke as she got to Estrella 
Point. Only three of the torpedoes on her 
side exploded when I touched the button. 
A huge submarine mine caught her full amid- 
ships, hurling the water high in the air and 
tearing ^ a great rent in the Merrimac's side. 

Her stern ran upon Estrella Point. Chiefly 
owing to the work done by the mine she 
began to sink slowly. At that time she was 
across the channel, but before she settled the 
tide drifted her around. We were all aft, 
lying on the deck. Shells ^^ and bullets 
whistled around. Six-inch shells from the 
Vizcaya came tearing into the Merrimac, 
crashing into wood and iron and passing 
clear through while the plunging shots from 
the fort broke through her decks. 

" Not a man ^ must move," I said, and it was 
only owing to the splendid discipline of the nien 
that we all were not killed, as the shells rained 
>verusand minutes became hours of suspense. 
The men's mouths grew parched, but we must 
lie there till daylight, I told them. Now and 



again one or the other of the men 13'ing 
with his face glued to the deck and wondering 
whether the next shell would not come our 
way would say : ^* Hadn't^ we better drop off 
now, sir ? " but I said : " Wait ^^ till daylight" 

It would have been impossible to get the 
catamaran or raft anywhere but to the shore, 
where the soldiers stood shooting, and I 
hoped that by daylight we might be recog- 
nized and saved. The grand old Merrimac 
kept sinking. I wanted to go forward and 
see the damage done there, where nearly all 
the fire was directed, but one man said that 
if I rose it would draw all the fire on the rest. 
So I lay motionless. It was splendid ^^ the way 
these men behaved. The fire^ of the soldiers, 
the batteries and the Vizcaya was awful. 

When the water came up on the Merrimac's 
decks the raft floated amid the wreckage, but 
she was still made fast to the boom, and we 
caught hold ^^ of the edge and clung on, our 
heads only being above water. One man 
thought we were safer right ^ there ; it was 
quite light; the firing had ceased, except 
that on the launch which followed to rescue 
us, and I feared^ Ensign Powell and his 
men had been killed. 

A Spanish launch ^ came roward the Mcr 
rimac. We agreed to capture her and run. 
Just as she came close the Spaniards saw us, 
and a half-dozen marines jumped up and 
pointed ^ their rifles at our heads. " Is there 
any officer in that boat to receive a surrendei 
of prisoners of war ? " I shouted. An old man 
leaned out under the awning and held out ^ his 
hand. It was the Spanish Admiral Cervera. 



PATRIOTIC RECITATIONS. 



151 



THE STARS AND STRIPES, 

The following glowing tributes to our American Flag afford excellent selections for any patriotic 
occasion. They make suitable recitations for children at celebrations on the Fourth of July, Washing- 
ton's birthday, etc. 



NOTHING BUT FLAGS. 

lOTHING but flags ! but simple flags ! 



l^OTH 

I =z/ Tattered and torn, and hanging in rags ; 
J_|i> L^^^ And we walk benealh them with 

careless tread, 
Nor tliink of the hosts of the mighty dead 
Who have marched beneath them in days gone by 
With a burning cheek and a kindling eye, 
And have bathed their folds with their young 

life's tide, 
And dying blessed them, and blessing died, 

OUR BANNER. 

Hail to our banner brave 
All o'er the land and wave 

To-day unfurled. 
No folds to us so fair 
Thrown on the summer air j 
None with thee compare 

In all the world. 

W. P. TiLDEN. 

STAINED BY THE BLOOD OF HEROES. 

Around the globe, through every clime, 
Where commerce wafts or man hath trod, 

It floats aloft, unstained with crime. 
But hallowed by heroic blood. 

THE TATTERED ENSIGN. 

We seek not strife, but when our outraged laws 
Cry for protection in so just a cause. 
Ay, tear her tattered ensign dowp ' 

Long has it waved on high. 
And many an eye has danced to see 

That banner in the sky. 
Naii to the mast her holy flag, 

Set every threadbare sail, 
And give her to the God of storms, 

The lightning and the gale ! 

Oliver Wendell Holmes. 



THE FLAG OF OUR UNION. 

The union of lakes, the union of lands, 
The union of States none can sever ; 

The union of hearts, the union of hands. 
And the flag of our Union forever. 

George P. Morris 

FLAG OF THE FREE. 

When freedom from her mountain height 
Unfurled her standard to the air, 

She tore the azure robe of night 
And set the stars of glory there. 

She mingled with its gorgeous dyes 
The milky baldric of the skies, 
And striped its pure, celestial white 
With streakings of the morning light. 

Flag Of" the free hearts' hope and home ! 

By angel hands to valor given ! 
Thy stars have lit the welkin dome. 

And all thy hues were born in heaven. 

Forever float that standard sheet. 

Where breathes the foe, but falls before us, 
With freedom's soil beneath" our feet. 

And freedom's banner streaming o'er us. 

Joseph Rodman Drake. 

STAND BY THE FLAG. 

Stand by the flag ! on land and ocean billow ; 

By it your fathers stood, unmoved and true ; 
Living, defended ; dying, from their pillow. 

With their last blessing, passed it on to you. 
The lines that divide us are written in water, 
The lov3 that unite us is cut deep as rock. 

Thus by friendship's ties united, 
We will change the bloody past 

Into golden links of union, 
Blending all in love at last. 



152 



PATRIOTIC RECITATIONS. 



Thus beneath the one broad banner, 
Flag of the true, the brave, the free, 

We will build anew the Union, 
Fortress of our Liberty. 

FREEDOM'S STANDARD. 

God bless our star-gemmed banner ; 

Shake its folds out to the breeze ; 
From church, from fort, from house-top, 

Over the city, on the seas ; 

The die is cast, the storm at last 
Has broken in its might ; 



Unfurl the starry banner. 

And may God defend the right. 

Then bless our banner, God of hosts [ 

Watch o'er each starry fold ; 
'Tis Freedom's standard, tried and proved 

On many a field of old ; 

And Thou, who long has blessed us, 

Now bless us yet again. 
And crown our cause with victory. 

And keep our flag from stain. 



RODNEY'S RIDE. 

On the third day of July, 1776, Caesar Rodney rode on horseback from St. James's Neck, below Dover, 
Delaware, to Philadelphia, in a driving rain storm, for the purpose of voting for the Declaration of 
Independence. 

This is an excellent reading for quick changes of voice and manner. To render it well will prove tha*. 
you have genuine dramatic ability. You should study this selection carefully and practice it until you are 
the complete master of it. It requires a great deal of life and spirit, with changes of voice from the low tone 
to the loud call. For the most part your utterance should be rapid, yet distinct. 



IN that soft mid -land where the breezes bear 
The North and South on the genial air, 
Through the county of Kent, on affairs of 
State, 
Rode Caesar Rodney, the delegate. 

Burly and big, and bold and bluff, 
In his three-cornered hat and coat of snuff, 
A foe to King George and the English State, 
Was Caesar Rodney, the delegate. 

Into Dover village he rode apace. 
And his kinsfolk knew from his anxious face, 
It was matter grave that brought him there, 
To the counties three upon the Delaware. 

"Money and men we must have," he said, 
*'0r the Congress fails and our cause is dead. 
Give us both and the King shall not work his 

will, 
We are men, since the blood of Bunker Flill " 

Comes a rider swift on a panting bay ; 
" Ho, Rodney, ho ! you must save the day, 
For the Congress halts at a deed so great, 
And your vote alone may decide its fate." 



Answered Rodney then : "I will ride with speed ; 
It is Liberty's stress; it is Freedom's need." 
''When stands it?" ''To-night." "Not a 

moment to spare. 
But ride like the wind from the Delaware." 

" Ho, saddle the black I I've but half a day, 
And the Congress sits eighty miles away — 
But I'll be in time, if God grants me grace, 
To shake my fist in King George's face." 

He is up; he is off! and the black horse flies 
On the northward road ere the "God-speed " dies, 
It is gallop and spur, as the leagues they clear. 
And the clustering mile-stones move a-rear. 

It is two of the clock ; and the fleet hoofs fling 
The Fieldsboro' dust with a clang and a cling, 
It is three; and he gallops with slack rein where 
The road winds down to the Delaware. 

Four; and he spurs into New Castle town. 
From his panting steed he gets him down — 
"A fresh one quick ! and not a moment's wait ! " 
And off speeds Rodney, the delegate. 



PATRIOTIC RECITATIONS. 



153 



It is five; and ttie beams of the western sun 
Tinge the spires of Wilmington, gold and dun; 
Six; and the dust of Chester street 
Flies back in a cloud from his courser's feet. 

It is seven ; the horse-boat, broad of beam, 
At the Schuylkill ferry crawls over the stream — 
' A.nd at seven fifteen by the Rittenhouse clock, 
He flings his rein to the tavern jock. 

The Congress is met; the debate's begun, 
And Liberty lags for the vote of one — 

— *^.- 



When into the hall, not a moment late, 
Walks Caesar Rodney, the delegate. 

Not a moment late ! and that half day's ride 
Forwards the world with a mighty stride; 
For the act was passed ; ere the midnight stroke 
O'er the Quaker City its echoes woke. 

At Tyranny's feet was the gauntlet flung; 

" We are free ! " all the bells through the colonies 

rung, 
And the sons of the free may recall with pride. 
The day of Delegate Rodney's ride. 



(T^ 



'•••^ 



A SPOOL OF THREAD. 

The last battle of the Civil War was at Brazos, Texas, May 13, 1865, resulting in the surrender of the 
Texan army. Recite this in a conversational tone, as you would tell any story. 




ELL, yes, I've lived in Texas, since the 
spring of '61 ; 
And I'll relate the story, though I fear, 
sir, when 'tis done, 
'Twill be little worth your hearing, it w^as such a 

simple thing, 
Unheralded in verses that the grander poets 
sing. 

There had come a guest unbidden, at the opening 

of the year. 
To find a lodgment in our hearts, and the tenant's 

name was fear; 
For secession's drawing mandate was a call for 

men and arms. 
And each recurring eventide but brought us fresh 

alarms. 

They had notified the General that he must yield 

to fate, 
And all the muniments of war surrender to the 

State, 
IBut he sent from San Antonio an order to the sea 
To convey on board the steamer all the fort's 

artillery. 

Right royal was his purpose, but the foe divined 

his plan. 
And the wily Texans set a guard to intercept the 

man 



Detailed to bear the message; they placed their 

watch with care 
That neither scout nor citizen should pass it 

unaware. 

Well, this was rather awkward, sir, as doubtless 

you will say. 
But the Major who was chief of staff resolved to 

have his w^ay, 
Despite the watchful provost guard ; so he asked 

his wife to send. 
With a little box of knick-knacks, a letter to her 

friend ; 
And the missive held one sentence I remember to 

this day : 
''The thread is for your neighbor, Mr. French, 

across the way." 

He dispatched a youthful courier. Of course, as 

you will know, 
The Texans searched him thoroughly and ordered 

him to show 
The contents of the letter. They read it o'er 

and o'er, 
But failed to find the message they had hindered 

once before. 

So it reached the English lady, and she wondered 
at the word. 



154 



PATRIOTIC RECITATIONS. 



But gave the thread to Major French, explaining 

that she heard 
He wished a spool of cotton. And great was his 

surprise 
At such a trifle sent, unasked, through leagues of 

hostile spies. 

*' There's some hidden purpose, doubtless, in the 

curious gift," he said. 
Then he tore away the label, and inside the 

spool of thread 
Was Major Nichols' order, bidding him convey 

to sea 
iili the arms and ammunition from Fort Duncan's 

battery. 



''Down to Brazon speed your horses," thus the 

Major's letter ran, 
''Shift equipments and munitions, and embark 

them if you can." 

Yes, the transfer was effected, for the ships lay 

close at hand, 
Ere the Texans guessed their purpose they had 

vanished from the land. 
Do I know it for a fact, sir ? 'Tis no story that 

I've read — 
I was but a boy in war time, and I carried him 

the thread. 

Sophie E. Eastman. 



THE YOUNG PATRIOT, ABRAHAM LINCOLN. 




NE Fourth of July, v^hen Abraham 
Lincoln was a boy, he heard an ora- 
tion by old 'Squire Godfrey. As in 
the olden days, the 'Squire's oration 
was full of Washington; inspiring in the heart 
of young Lincoln an enthusiasm that sent him 
home burning with a desire to know more of 
the great man who heretofore had seemed 
more of a dream than a reality. Learning 
that a man some six miles up the creek 
owned a copy of Washington's life, Abraham 
did not rest that night until he had footed 
the whole distance and begged the loan of 
the book. 

" Sartin, sartin," said the owner. " The book 
is fairly well worn, but no leaves are missin', 
and a lad keen enough to read as to walk six 
miles to get a book, ought to be encouraged." 
It was a much-worn copy of Weem's " Life 
of Washington," and Abe, thanking the 
stranger for his kindness, walked back under 
the stars, stopping every little while to catch 
a glimpse of the features of the " Father of 
his Country" as shown in the frontispiece. 

After reaching home, tired as he was, he 
could not close his eyes until, by the light 
of a pirie knot, he had found out all that was 



recorded regarding the boyhood of the man 
who had so suddenly sprung into prominence 
in his mind. In that busy harvest season he 
had no time to read or study during the day, 
but every night, long after the other members 
of the family were sleeping peacefully, Abe 
lay, stretched upon the floor with his book 
on the hearth, reading, reading, reading, the 
pine knot in the fireplace furnishing all the 
light he needed, the fire within burning with 
such intense heat as to kindle a blaze that 
grew and increased until it placed him in the 
highest seat of his countrymen. 

What a marvelous insight into the human 
heart did Abraham Lincoln get between the 
covers of that wonderful book. The little 
cabin grew to be a paradise as he learned 
from the printed pages the story of one great 
man's life. The barefooted boy in buckskin 
breeches, so shrunken that they reached only 
halfway between the knee and ankle, actually 
asked himself whether there might not be 
some place — great and honorable, awaiting 
him in th future. 

Before this treasured " Life ot Washing- 
ton " was returned to its owner, it met with 
such a mishap as almost to ruin it. The 



PATRIOTIC RECITATIONS. 



155 



book, which was lying on a board upheld by- 
two pegs, was soaked by the rain that dashed 
between the logs one night, when a storm 
beat with unusual force against the north 
end of the cabin. Abraham was heartbroken 
over the catastrophe, and sadly carried the 
book back to its owner, offering to work to 
pay for the damage done. The man con- 
sented, and the borrower worked for three 
days at seventy-five cents a day, and thus 
himself became the possessor of the old, 
fade:!, stained book — a book that had more 
to do with shaping his life, perhaps, than any 
one other thing. 

Abe had not expected to take the book 
back with him, but merely to pay for the 
damage done, and was surprised when the 
man handed it to him when starting. He 
was very grateful, however, and when he 
gave expression to his feelings the old man 
said, patting him on the shoulder: "You 
have earned it, my boy, and are welcome to 
it. It's a mighty fine thing to have a head 
for books, just as fine to have a heart for 
honesty, and If you keep agoin' as you have 
started, maybe some day you'll git to be 
President yourself. President Abraham Lin- 
coln ! That would sound fust rate, fust rate, 
now, wouldn't it, sonny ? '' 



" It's not a very handsome name, to be 
sure," Abe replied, looking as though he 
thought such an event possible, away off, In 
the future. " No, it's not a very very hand- 
some name, but I guess it's about as hand- 
some as its owner," he added, glancing at the 
reflection of his homely features in the little 
old-fashioned, cracked mirror hanging oppo- 
site where he sat. 

'' Handsome is that handsome does," said 
the old farmer, nodding his gray head in an 
approving style. " Yes, indeedy ; handsome 
deeds make handsome men. We hain't a 
nation of royal Idiots, with one generation 
of kings passin' away to make room for an- 
other. No, sir-ee. In this free country of 
ourn, the rich and poor stand equal chances, 
and a boy without money is just as likely to 
work up to the Presidential chair as the one 
who inherits from his parents lands and stocks 
and money and influence. It's brains that 
counts In this land of liberty, and Abraham 
Lincoln has just as much right to sit In the 
highest seat In the land as Washington's 
son himself, if he had had a son, which he 
hadn't." 

Who knows but the future War President 
of this great Republic received his first aspi- 
rations from this kindly neighbor's words? 



COLUMBIA. 



T^^OLUMBIA, Columbia, to glory arise; 

I V^ The queen of the world, and the child 

^|U ^ of the skies ; 

Thy genius commands thee ; with rap- 
ture behold, 

While ages on ages thy splendors unfold. 

Thy reign is the last and the noblest of time, 

Most fruitful thy soil, most inviting thy cHme ; 

Let the crimes of the east ne'er encrimson thy 
name. 

Be freedom, and science, and virtue, thy fame. 



To conquest and slaughter let Europe aspire, 
Whelm nations in blood, and wrap cities in fire; 
Thy heroes the rights of mankind shall defend. 
And triumph pursue them, and glory attend. 
A world is thy realm — for a world be thy laws- 
Enlarged as thine empire, and just as thy cause ; 
On freedom's broad basis thy empire shall rise, 
Extend with the main, and dissolve with the skies 

Thy fleets to all regions thy power shall display, 
The nations admire, and the ocean obey ; 



156 



PATRIOTIC RECITATIONS. 



Each shore to thy glory its tribute unfold, 

And the east and the south yield their spices and 

gold. 
As the day-spring, unbounded, tliy splendor shall 

flow, 
And earth's little kingdoms before thee shall 

bow. 
While the ensigns of union, in triumph unfurled, 
Hush the tumult of war, and give peace to the 

world. 



Thus, as down a lone valley, with cedars o'er- 

spread. 
From war's dread confusion, I pensively strayed, 
The gloom from the face of fair heaven retired ; 
The winds ceased to murmur ; the thunder expired ; 
Perfumes, as of Eden, flowed sweetly along, 
And a voice, as of angels, enchantingly sung, 
" Columbia, Columbia, to glory arise; 
The queen of the world, and the child of the 

skies." Joel Barlow. 



CAPTAIN MOLLY AT MONMOUTH. 

One of the farri^as battles of the Revolution was that of Monmouth, New Jersey, which was fought on 
the 28th of June, 1778. General Washington was in command on the American side, and General Sir 
Henry Clinton was commander-in-chief of the British forces. The Bridsh troops met with a decisive defeat. 
The wife of an Irish gunner on the American side who went by the name of Molly had followed her husband 
to the battle. During the engagement he was shot down. With the most undaunted heroism Molly rushed 
forward and took his place at the gun and remained there throughout the thickest of the fight. In reciting 
this graphic account of her courageous deed you should show great spirit and animation, pointing her out as 
she takes her husband's place, and in glowing manner describe her patriotism. 

N the bloody field of Monmouth flashed 
the guns of Greene and Wayne ; 
Fiercely roared the tide of battle, thick 
the sward was heaped with slain. 
Foremest, facing death and danger, Hessian 

horse and grenadier, 
In the vanguard, fiercely fighting, stood an Irish 
cannoneer. 




Loudly roared his iron cannon, mingling ever in 

the strife, 
And beside him, firm and daring, stood his 

faithful Irish wife; 
Of her bold contempt of danger, Greene and 

Lee's brigade could tell. 
Every one knew ''Captain Molly," and tlie army 

loved her well. 

Surged the roar of battle round them, swiftly 

flew the iron hail ; 
Forv/ard dashed a thousand bayonets that lone 

battery to assail ; 
From the foeman's foremost columns swept a 

furious fusilade, 
Mowing down the massed battalions in the ranks 

of Greene's brigade. 



Faster and faster worked the gunner, soiled with 

powder, blood and dust ; 
English bayonets shone before him, shot and 

shell around him burst ; 
Still he fought with reckless daring, stood and 

manned her long and well, 
Till at last the gallant fellow dead beside his 

cannon fell. 



With a bitter cry of sorrow, and a dark and 

angry frown. 
Looked that band of gallant patriots at their 

gunner stricken down. 
'' Fall back, comrades! It is folly thus to strive 

against the foe." 
' ' Not so ! " cried Irish Molly, * ' we can strike 

another blow ! " 

Quickly leaped she to the cannon in her fallen 

husband's place, 
Sponged and rammed it fast and steady, fired iv 

in the foeman's face. 
Flashed another ringing volley, roared anothei 

from the gun ; 
''Boys, hurrah ! " cried gallant Molly, " for the 

flag of Washington!" 



PATRIOTIC RECITATIONS. 



157 



Greene's brigade, though shorn and shattered, 
slain and bleeding half their men. 

When they heard that Irish slogan, turned and 
charged the foe again; 

Knox and Wayne and Morgan rally, to the front 
they forward wheel. 

And before their rushing onset Clinton's Eng- 
lish columns reel. 

Still the cannon's voice in anger rolled and 
rattled o'er the plain. 

Till they lay in swarms around it mingled heaps 
of Hessian slain. 

*' Forward ! charge them with the bayonet ! ' 
'twas the voice of Washington ; 

And there burst a fiery greeting from the Irish- 
woman's gun. 



Monckton falls ; against his columns leap the 

troops of Wayne and Lee, 
And before their reeking bayonets Clinton's red 

battalions flee ; 
Morgan's rifles, fiercely flashing, thin the foe's 

retreating ranks. 
And behind them, onward dashing, Ogden hovers 

on their flanks. 

Fast they fly, those boasting Britons, who in all 

their glory came, 
With their brutal Hessian hirelings to wipe out 

our country's name. 
Proudly floats the starry banner; Monmouth's 

glorious field is won ; 
And, in triumph, Irish Molly stands besides her 

smoking gun. William Collins. 



DOUGLAS TO THE POPULACE OF STIRLING. 




'EAR, gentle friends ! ere yet, for me, 
Ye break the bands of fealty. 
My life, my honor, and my cause, 
I tender free to Scotland's laws. 
Are these so weak as must require 
The aid of your misguided ire ? 
Or, if I suffer causeless wrong. 
Is then my selfish rage so strong. 
My sense of public weal so low. 
That, for mean vengeance on a foe. 
Those cords of love I should unbind 
Which knit my country and my kind ? 
Oh no ! believe, in yonder tower 



It will not soothe my captive hour, 

To know those spears our foes should dread 

For me in kindred gore are red ; 

To know, in fruitless brawl begun, 

For me, that mother wails her son ; 

For me that widow's mate expires, 

For me, that orphans weep their sires, 

That patriots mourn insulted laws, 

And curse the Douglas for the cause. 

O let your patience ward such ill, 

And keep your right to lo^^e me still. 



Sir Walter Scott. 



OUR COUNTRY. 




UR country ! — 'tis a glorious land ! 
With broad arms stretched from 
shore to shore. 
The proud Pacific chafes her strand. 
She hears the dark Atlantic roar ; 
And, nurtured on her ample breast. 
How many a goodly prospect lies 
In Nature's wildest grandeur drest, 
Enamelled with her loveliest dyes. 



decked with flowers of; 



Rich prairies, 
gold, 

Like sunlit oceans roll afar ; 
Broad lakes her azure heavens behold, 

Reflecting clear each trembling star, 
And mighty rivers, mountain-born, 

Go sweeping onward dark and deep. 
Through forests where the bounding fawn 

Beneath their sheltering branches leap. 



158 



PATRIOTIC RECITATIONS. 



And, cradled mid her clustering hills, 

Sweet vales in dreamlike heauty h;de, 
Where love the air vvi:h music f.lLs ; 

And calm content and peace abide; 
For plenty here her fulness pours 

In rich profusion o'er the land, 
And sent to seize her generous stores. 

There prowls no tyrant's hireling band. 



Great God ! we thank thee for this home— - 

This bounteous birtliland of the free ; 
Wliere wanderers from afar may come, 

And breathe the air of liberty ! — 
Still may her flowers untrampled spring, 

Her harvests wave, her cities rise ; 
And yet, till Time shall fold his wing, 

Remain Earth's loveliest paradise ! 

W. G. Pkabodik. 



M'lLRATH OF MALATE, 

Acting Sergeant J. A. Mcllrath, Battery H, Third Artillery, Regulars ; enhsted from New York; fifteen 
years' service. The heroism of our brave Regulars in the War with Spain was the theme of universal 
admiration. Throw plenty of life and fire into this reading, and avoid a sing-song tone. 



■^/^. 



ES, yes, my boy, there's no mistake, 
Y^ You put the contract through ! 

"^ You lads with Shafter, I'll allow, 
Were heroes, tried and true; 

But don't forget the men who fought 

About Manila Bay, 
And don't forget brave Mcllrath 

Who died at Malat6. 

The night was black, save where the forks 

Of tropic lightning ran, 
When, with a long deep thunder-roar, 

The typhoon storm began. 

Then, suddenly above the din, 

We heard the steady bay 
Of volleys from the trenches where 

The Pennsylvanians lay. 

The Tenth, we thought, could hold their own 

Against the feigned attack, 
And, if the Spaniards dared advance, 

Would pay them doubly back. 

But soon we marked the volleys sink 

Into a scattered fire — 
And, now we heard the Spanish gun 

Boom nigher yet and nigher ! 

Then, like a ghost, a courier 

Seemed past our picket tossed 
With wild hair streaming in his face— 

** We're lost— we're lost— we're lost.** 



''Front, front — in God's nam.e— front! " he 
cried : 

'' Our ammunition's gone ! " 
He turned a face of dazed dismay — 

And through the night sped on ! 

"Men, follow me ! " cried Mcllrath, 

Our acting Sergeant then ; 
And when he gave the word he knew 

He gave the word to men ! 

Twenty there — not one man more— 

But down the sunken road 
We dragged the guns of Battery H, 

Nor even stopped to load ! 

Sudden, from the darkness poured 

A storm of Mauser hail— 
But not a man there thought to pause. 

Nor any man to quail ! 

Ahead, the Pennsylvanians' guns 

In scattered firing broke ; 
The Spanish trenches, red with flame. 

In fiercer volleys spoke ! 

Down with a rush our twenty came — 

The open field we passed — 
And in among the hard-pressed Tenth 

We set our feet at last ! 

Up, with a leap, sprang Mcllrath, 

Mud-spattered, worn and wet, 
And, in an instant, there he stood 

High on the parapet I 



II 



PATHIOTIC RECITATIONS. 



159 



" Steady, boys ! we've got 'em now — 

Only a minute late ! 
It's all right, lads — we've got 'em wiiipped. 

Just give 'em volleys straight ! " 

Then, up and down the parapet 

With head erect he went, 
As cool as when he sat with us 
^ Beside our evening tent ! 

Not one of us, close sheltered there 

Down in the trench's pen, 
But felt that he would rather die 

Than shame or grieve him then 1 



The fire, so close to being qnenched 

In panic and defeat, 
Leaped forth, by rapid volleys sped, 

In one long deadly sheet ! 

A cheer went up along the line 

As breaks the thunder-call — 
But, as it rose, great God ! we saw 

Our gallant Sergeant fall ! 

He sank into our outstretched arms 

Dead — but immortal grown ; 
And Glory brightened where he fell, 

And valor claimed her own ! 

John Jerome Rooney. 



AFTER THE BATTLE. 

If you should read or recite this tragic selection in a dull monotone, as most persons read poetry, the 
effect would be ludicrous. The brave captain is dying. With gasping utterance, signs of weakness and 
appealing looks, his words should be delivered. Some of the sentences should be whispered. Do not 
attempt to recite this piece until you have mastered it and can render it with telhng effect. It demands the 
trained powers of a competent elocutionist. 

''It can make no difference whether I go from 
here or there. 
Thou' It write to father and tell him when I am 
dead ?— 
The eye that sees the sparrow fall numbers every 
hair 

Even of this poor head. 



^f^ RAVE captain ! canst thou speak ? 

What is it thou dost see ? 
"^ ) A wondrous glory lingers on thy face, 
The night is past ; I've watched the 
night with thee. 

Knowest thou the place? *' 

" The place ? 'Tis San Juan, comrade. 
Is the battle over? 
The victory — the victory — is it won ? 

My wound is mortal ; I know I cannot recover — 
The battle for me is done ! 

" I never thought it would come to this ! 

Does it rain ? 
The musketry I Give me a drink j ah, that is 
glorious ! 
Now if it were not for this pain— this pain — 
Didst thou say victorious ? 

"It would not be strange, would it, if I do 
wander ? 
A man can't remember with a bullet in his 
brain. 
I wish when at home I had been a little fonder— 
Shall I ever be well again ? 



" Tarry awhile, comrade, the battle can wait for 
thee; 
I will try to keep thee but a few brief moments 
longer ; 
Thou'lt say good-bye to the friends at home for 
me? — 

If only I were a little stronger ! 

" I must not think of it. Thou art sorry for me? 
The glory — is it the glory ? — makes me blind ; 
Strange, for the light, comrade, the light I can- 
not see — 

Thou hast been very kind ! 

"I do not think I have done so very much 
evil — 
I did not mean it. ' I lay me down to sleep, 



160 



PATRIOTIC RECITATIONS. 



I pray the Lord my soul ' — ^jiist a little rude and 
uncivil — 

Comrade, why dost thou weep ? 

*' Oh ! if human pity is so gentle and tender — 
Good-night, good friends ! ' I lay me down 
to sleep !' — 
Who from a Heavenly Father's love needs a de- 
fender ? 

* My soul to keep!' 

" ' If I should die before I wake ' — comrade, tell 
mother, 
Remember — T pray the Lord my soul to take !' 
My musket thou'lt carry back to my little brother 
For my dear sake ! 

" Attention, company ! Reverse arms ! Very 
well, men ; my thanks. 
Where am I ? Do I wander, comrade, — wan- 
der again ? — 
Parade is over. Company E, break ranks ! break 
ranks ! 

I know it is the pain. 



''Give me thy strong hand; fain would I cling, 
comrade to thee ; 
I feel a chill air blown from a far-off shore ; 
My sight revives; Death stands and looks at 
me. 

What waits he for ? 

''Keep back my ebbing pulse till I be bolder 
grown ; 
I would know something of the Silent Land ; 
It's bard to struggle to the front alone — 

Comrade, thy hand. ^ 

"The 7'eveine calls! be strong, my soul, and 
peaceful ; 
The Eternal City bursts upon my sight ! 
The ringing air with ravishing melody is full— 
I've won the fight ! 

"Nay, comrade, let me go; hold not my hand 
so steadfast ; 
I am commissioned — under marching orders — ■ 
I know the Future — let the Past be past — 
I cross the bai'dersJ''' 



THE GREAT NAVAL BATTLE OF MANILA. 




ITH the United States flag flying 
at all their mastheads, our ships 
moved to the attack in line ahead, 
with a speed of eight knots, first passing in 
front of Manila, where the action was begun 
by three batteries mounting guns powerful 
enough to send a shell over us at a distance of 
five miles. The Concord's guns boomed out a 
reply to these batteries with two shots. No 
more were fired, because Admiral Dewey could 
not engage with these batteries without send- 
ing death and destruction into the crowded city. 

As we neared Cavite two very powerful 
submarine mines were exploded ahead of the 
flagship. The Spaniards had misjudged our 
position. Immense volumes of water were 
thrown high in air by these destroyers, but 
no harm was done to our ships. 

Admiral Dewey had fought with Farragut 



at New Orleans and Mobile Bay, where he 
had his first experience with torpedoes. Not 
knowing how many more mines there might 
be ahead, he still kept on without faltering. 
No other mines exploded, however, and it is 
believed that the Spaniards had only these 
two in place. 

Only a few minutes later the shore battery 
at Cavite Point sent over the flagship a shot 
that nearly hit the battery in Manila, but 
soon the guns got a better range, and the 
shells began to strike near us, or burst close, 
aboard from both the batteries and the Span- 
ish vessels. The heat was intense. Mer 
stripped off all clothing except their trousers. 

As the Admiral's flagship, the Olympia, 
drew nearer all was as silent on board as ii 
the ship had been empty, except for the 
whirr of blowers and the throb of the en- 



PATRIOTIC RECITATIONS. 



16. 



gines. Suddenly a shell burst directly over 
us. From the boatswain's mate at the after 
5 -inch gun came a hoarse cry. ** Remember 
the Maine !" arose from the throats of five 
hundred men at the guns. This watchword 
was caught up in turrets and fire-rooms, 
wherever seaman or fireman stood at his post 

" Remember the Maine !" had rung out for 
defiance and revenge. Its utterance seemed 
unpremeditated, but was evidently in every 
man's mind, and, now that the moment had 
come to make adequate reply to the murder 
of the Maine's crew, every man shouted what 
was in his heart. 

The Olympia was now ready to begin 1lie 
fight. "You may fire when ready, Captain 
Gridley," said the Admiral, and at nineteen 
minutes of six o'clock, at a distance of 5,500 
yards, the starboard 8-inch gun in the for- 
ward turret roared forth a compliment to the 
Spanish forts. Presently similar guns from 
the Baltimore and the Boston sent 250-pound 
shells hurtling toward the Spanish ships Cas- 
tilla and the Reina Christina for accuracy. 
The Spaniards seemed encouraged to fire 
faster, knowing exactly our distance, while we 
had to guess theirs. Their ship and shore 
guns were making things hot for us. 

The piercing scream of shot was varied 
often by the bursting of time fuse shells, 
fragments of which would lash the water like 
shrapnel or cut our hull and rigging. One 
large shell that was coming straight at the 



Olympia's forward bridge fortunately fell 
within less than one hundred feet away. One 
tragment cut the rigging exactly over the 
heads of some of the officers. Another struck 
the bridge gratings in line with it. A third 
passed just under Dewey and gouged a hole in 
the deck. Incidents like these were plentiful. 

" Capture and destroy Spanish squadron," 
were Dewey's orders. Never were instruc- 
tions more effectually carried out. Within 
seven hours after arriving on the scene of 
action nothing remained to be done. The 
Admiral closed the day by anchoring off the 
city of Manila and sending word to the Gover- 
nor General that if a shot was fired from the 
city at the fleet he would lay Manila in ashes. 

What was Dewey's achievement? He 
steamed into Manila Bay at the dead hour of 
the night, through the narrower of the two 
channels, and as soon as there was daylight 
enough to grope his way about he put his 
ships in line of battle and brought on an en- 
gagement, the greatest in many respects in 
ancient or modern warfare. The results ar«i 
known the world over — every ship in the 
Spanish fleet destroyed, the harbor Dewey's 
own, his own ships safe from the shore batter- 
ies, owing to the strategic position he occupied, 
and Manila his whenever he cared to take it. 

Henceforth, so long as ships sail and flags 
wave, high on the scroll that bears the names 
of the world's greatest naval heroes will be 
written that of George Dewey. 



THE SINKING OF THE SHIPS. 

This is an excellent selection for any one who can put dramatic force into its recital. Picture lu your 
Imagination the "Sinking of the Ships," and then describe it to your hearers as though the actual scene 
were before you. You have command in these words, "Now, sailors, stand by," etc.; rapid utterance in 
Ihese words, "And the Oregon flew," etc.; subdued tenderness in the words, "Giving mercy to all," etc. 
In short, the who2« piece affords an excellent opportunity for intense dramatic description. 



w 



RK, daik is the night; not a star in 

the sky, 
And the Maii:^ rides serenely; what 
danger is ni^h? 

(II-X) 



Our nation's at peace with the Kingdom of Spain, 
So calmly they rest in the battleship Maine. 
But, hark to that roar ! See, the water is red ! 
And the sailor sleeps now with the slime for his bed. 



162 



PATRIOTIC kEClTATIONa 



Havana then shook, like the leaves of the trees, 
When the tornado rides on the breast of the 

breeze ; 
Then people sprang up from their beds in the 

gloom, 

As they'll spring from their graves at the thunder 

of doom ; 
A.nd they rushed through the streets, in their 

terror and fear, 
Grying out as they ran, *' Have the rebels come 

here ? ' ' 

*'0h, see how the flame lights the shores of the 

bay, 
Like the red rising sun at the coming of day; 
'Tis a ship in a blaze ! 'lis the battleship Maine ! 
What means this to us and the Kingdom of Spain ? 
The eagle will come at that loud sounding roar, 
And our flag will fly free over Cuba no more." 

Dark, dark is the night on the face of the deep, 
In the forts all is still ; are the soldiers asleep ? 
Oh, see how that ship glides along through the 

night ; 
*Tis the ghost of the Maine — she has come to the 

fight ; 
A flash, and a roar, and a cry of despair ; 
The eagle has come, for brave Dewey is there. 

Oh, Spaniards, come out, for the daylight has 

fled. 
And look on those ships — look with terror and 

dread ; 
The eagle has come, and he swoops to his prey ; 
Oh, fly, Spaniards, fly, to tliat creek in the bay ! 
The eagle has come — " Remember the Maine ! " 
And the water is red with the blood of the slain. 

They rest for a time — now they sail in again ! 
Oh, woe, doom and woe, to the kingdom of 

Spain. 
Their ships are ablaze, they are battered and rent. 
By the death-dealing shells which our sailors have 

sent. 
Not a man have we lost ; yet the battle is o'er, 
And their ships ride the bay of Manila no more. 

Dark, silent and dark, on the face of the deep, 
A ship glides in there; are the Spaniards asleep? 



The channel is mined ! Oh, rash sailors betwaf^ i 
Or that death dealing fiend will spring up from 

his lair ; 
He will tear you, and rend you, with wild fiend 

ish roar. 
And cast you afar on the bay and the shore ! 

They laugh at the danger ; what care they for 

death? 
'Tis only a shock and the ceasing of breath ; 
Their souls to their Maker, their forms to the 

wave. 
What nation has sons like the home of the brave ? 
That ship they would steer to the pit of despair, 
If duty cried " Onward ! " and glory were there. 

The shore is ablaze, but the channel they gain ; 
A word of command, and the rattle of chain ; 
A flash — and the Merrimac's sunk in the bay. 
And the Spaniard must leave in the light of the 

day. 
Santiago and Hobson remembered shall be. 
While waves the proud flag of the brave and the 

free. 

The Spaniards sail out — what a glorious sight ! 
Now, sailors, stand by and prepare for the fight ; 
O, Glo'ster, in there, pelt the Dons as they fly. 
Make us glorious news for the Fourth of July ! 
And Wainwright remembered the Maine with a 

roar. 
And that shell-battered hulk is a terror no more. 

Then Schley and the Brooklyn were right in the 

way. 
But Sampson had gone to see Shafter, they say ; 
And the Oregon flew like a fury from hell. 
Spreading wreckage and death with the might of 

her shell ; 
Then Evans stood out, like a chivalrous knight^ 
Giving mercy to all at the end of the fight. 

The Colon still flies, but a shell cleaves the air, 
Its number is fatal — a cry of despair — 
Slie turns to the shore, she bursts into flame, 
And down comes the flag of the kingdom of 

Spain ; 
Men float all around, the battle is done. 
And their ships are all sunk for the sinkin^ of one^ 



Not ours is the hand that would strike 

night, 
With the fiendish intention to mangle and slay; 



PATRIOTIC RECITATIONS, 
in ih 



163 



We strike at obstruction to freedom and right, 
And strike when we strike in the light of the 
day. W. B. Collison. 



^..0.0..^ 




i 



PERRY'S CELEBRATED 

,ERRY'S famous battle on Lake Erie 
raised the spirits of the Americans. 
The British had six ships, with 
sixty-three guns. The Americans 
had nine ships, with fifty-four guns, and the 
American ships were much smaller than the 
English. At this time Perry, the American 
commander, was but twenty-six years of age. 
His flagship was the Lawrence, The ship's 
watchword was the last charge of the Chesa- 
peake's dying Commander — " Don't give up 
the ship.'' The battle was witnessed by 
thousands of people on shore. 

At first the advantage seemed to be with 
the English. Perry's flagship was riddled 
by English shots, her guns were dismounted 
and the battle seemed lost. At the supreme 
crisis Perry embarked in a small boat with 
some of his officers, and under the fire of 
many cannon passed to the Niagara, another 
ship of the fleet, of which he took command. 
After he had left the Lawrence she hauled 
down her flag and surrendered, but the other 
American ships carried on the battle with 
such fierce impetuosity that the English 



VICTORY ON LAKE ERIE. 

battle-ship in turn surrendered, the Lawrence 
was retaken and all the English ships yielded 
with the exception of one, which took -flight. 
The Americans pursued her, took her and 
came back with the entire British squadron. 
In the Capitol at Washington is a historical 
picture showing this famous victory. 

In Perry's great battle on Lake Erie was 
shown the true stuff of which American 
sailors are made. Perry was young, bold 
and dashing, but withal, he had the coolness 
and intrepidity of the veteran. History 
records few braver acts than his passage in 
an open boat from one ship to another under 
the galling fire of the enemy. 

The grand achievements of the American 
navy are brilliant chapters in our country^s 
history. When the time comes for daring 
deeds, our gallant tars are equal to the occa- 
sion. Coolness in battle, splendid discipline, 
perfect marksmanship and a patriotism that 
glories in the victory of the Stars and Stripes, 
combine to place the officers and men of our 
navy in the front rank of the world's greatest 
heroes. 



/^N 



THE CAPTURE OF QUEBEC. 



ENERAL WOLFE, the English 
\ f^ I commander, saw that he must take 
Quebec by his own efforts or not 
at all. He attempted several diversions 
above the city in the hope of drawing Mont- 
calm, the French comimander, from his in- 
trenchments into the open field, but Mont- 
calm merely sent De Bougainville with fifteen 



hundred men to watch the shore above Que- 
bec and prevent a landing, Wolfe fell into 
a fever, caused b)^ his anxiety, and his 
despatches to his government created the 
gravest uneasiness in England for the success 
of his enterprise. 

Though ill, Wolfe examined the river with 
eagle eyes to detect some place at which a 



164 



PATRIOTIC RECITATIONS. 



landing could be attempted. His energy 
was rewarded by his discovery of the cove 
which now bears his name. From the shore 
at the head of this cove a steep and difficult 
pathway, along which two men could scarcely 
march abreast, wound up to the summit of 
the heights and was guarded by a small force 
of Canadians. 

Wolfe at once resolved to effect a landing 
here and ascend the heights by this path. 
The greatest secrecy was necessary to the 
success of the undertaking, and in order to 
deceive the French as to his real design, 
Captain Cook, afterwards famous as a great 
navigator, was sent to take soundings and 
place buoys opposite Montcalm's camp, as if 
that were to be the real point of attack. The 
morning of the thirteenth of September was 
chosen for the movement, and the day and 
night of the twelfth were spent in prepara- 
tions for it. 

At one o'clock on the morning of the thir- 
teenth a force of about five thousand men 
under Wolfe, with Monckton and Murray, set 
off in boats from the fleet, which had ascended 
the river several days before, and dropped 
down to the point designated for the land- 
ing. Each officer was thoroughly informed 
of the duties required of him, and each 
shared the resolution of the gallant young 
commander, to conquer or to die. As the 
boats floated down the stream, in the clear, 
cool starlight, Wolfe spoke to his officers of 
the poet Gray, and of his " Elegy in a 
Country Churchyard." "I would prefer," 
said he, " being the author of that poem to 
the glory of beating the French to-morrow." 
Then in a musing voice he repeated the 
lines : 

" The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, 
And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave. 

Await alike the inexorable hour ; 

The paths of glory lead but to the grave." 

In a short while the landing-place was 



reached, and the flecc, following silently, 
took position to cover the landing if neces- 
sary. Wolfe and his immediate command 
leaped ashore and secured the pathway. 
The light infantry, who were carried by the 
tide a little below the path, climbed up th(f 
side of the heights, sustaining themselves b; 
clinging to the roots and shrubs which lined 
the precipitous face of the hill. They I 
reached the summit and drove off the picket- 
guard after a light skirmish. The rest of 
the troops ascended in safety by the path- 
way. Having gained the heights, Wolfe 
moved forward rapidly to clear the forest, 
and by daybreak his army was drawn up on 
the Heights of Abraham, in the rear of the 
city. 

Montcalm was speedily informed of the 
presence of the English. " It can be but a 
small party come to burn a few houses and 
retire," he answered incredulously. A brief 
examination satisfied him of his danger, and 
he exclaimed in amazement : *' Then they 
have at last got to the weak side of this 
miserable garrison. We must give battle 
and crush them before mid-day." 

He at once despatched a messenger for De 
Bougainville, who was fifteen miles up the 
river, and marched from his camp opposite 
the city to the Heights of Abraham to drive 
the English from them. The opposing forces 
were about equal in numbers, though the 
English troops were superior to their adver- 
saries in discipline, steadiness and determina- 
tion. 

The battle began about ten o'clock and 
was stubbornly -contested. It was at length 
decided in favor of the English. Wolfe 
though wounded several times, continued to 
direct his army until, as he was leading 
them to a final charge, he received a 
musket ball in the breast. He tottered and 
called to an officer near him : " Support me; 
let not my brave fellows see me drop.'' He 



PATRIOTIC RECITATIONS. 



165 



was borne tenderly to the rear, and water 
was brought him to quench his thirst. 

At this moment the officer upon whom he 
was leaning cried out : " They run ! they 
run ! " ** Who run ? " asked the dying hero, 
eagerly. *' The French," said the officer, 
" give way everywhere." " What," said 
Wolfe, summoning up his remaining strength, 
" do they run already ? Go, one of you, to 



Colonel Burton; bid him march Webb's 
regiment with all speed to Charles River to 
cut off the fugitives." Then a smile of con- 
tentment overspreading his pale features, he 
murmured : " Now, God be praised, I die 
happy," and expired. He had done his 
whole duty, and with his life had purchased 
an empire for his country. 

James D. McCabe. 



LITTLE JEAN. 

At the battle of the Pyramids, July 21st, A. D. lygS. 




URNING sands, and isles of palm, and 
the Mamelukes' fierce array, 
Under the solemn Pyramids, Napo- 
leon saw that day ; 
** Comrades," he cried, '' from those old heights, 

Fame watches the deeds you do, 
The eyes of forty centuries are fixed this day on 



you 



I " 



They answered him with ringing shouts, they 

were eager for the fray, 
Napoleon held their central square, in front was 

bold Desaix ; 
They gave one glance to the Pyramids, one glance 

to the rich Cairo, 
And then they poured a rain of fire upon their 

charging foe. 

Only a little drummer boy, from the column of 
Dufarge, 

Tottered to where the " Forty-third ' ' stood wait- 
ing for their '' charge," 

Bleeding— but beating still his call — he said, 
with tear-dimmed eye : 

"I'm but a baby, Forty- third, so teach me how 
to die!" 

Then Regnier gnawed his long gray beard, and 

Joubert turned away. 
The lad had been the pet of all, they knew not 

what to say ; 
*'I will not shame you, 'Forty-third,' though I 

am but a child ! " 



Then Regnier stooped and kissed his face, and 
shouted loud and wild : 

* ' Forward ! Why are we waiting here ? Shall 

Mamelukes stop our way ? 
Come, little Jean, and beat the 'charge/ a^ad 

ours shall be the day ; 
And we will show thee how to die, good boy ! 

good boy I Be brave ! 
It is not every ' nine years' old' can fill a soldier's 

grave ! " 

It was as though a spirit spoke, the men to bat- 
tle flew ; 

Yet each in passing, cried aloud: ''My little 
Jean, Adieu ! " 

"Adieu, brave Forty-third, Adieu!" Then 
proudly beat his drum — 

" You've showed me how a soldier dies — and lit- 
tle Jean will come ! " 

They found him 'mid the skin next day, amid 

the brave who fell, 
Said Regnier, proudly, " My brave Jean, thou 

learned thy lesson well ! ' ' 
They hung the medal round his neck, and crossed 

his childish hands, 
And dug for him a little grave in Egypt's lonely 

sands. 
But, still, the corps his memory keep, and name 

with flashing eye, 
The hero whom the " Forty-third, " in Egypt, 

taught to die. Lillie E. Barr. 



166 



PATRIOTIC RECITATIONS. 



W: 



THE DEFEAT OF GENERAL BRADDOCK. 



ASHINGTON, who, at this time, 
was a subordinate officer, was well 
convinced that the French and In- 
dians were informed of the movements of the 
army and would seek to interfere with it 
before its arrival at Fort Duquesne, which 
was only ten miles distant, and urged Brad- 
dock to throw in advance the Viiginia Ran- 
gers, three hundred strong, as they were ex- 
perienced Indian fighters. 

Braddock angrily rebuked his aide, and as 
if to make the rebuke more pointed, ordered 
the Virginia troops and other provincials to 
take position in the rear of the regulars. 

In the meantime the French at Fort Du- 
quesne had been informed by their scouts of 
Brr^ddock's movements, and had resolved to 
ambuscade him on his march. Early on the 
morning of the ninth a force of about two 
hundred and thirty French and Canadians 
and six hundred and thirty-seven Indians, 
under De Beaujeu, the commandant at Fort 
Duquesne, was despatched with orders to 
occupy a designated spot and attack the en- 
emy upon their approach. Before reaching 
it, about two o'clock in the afternoon, they 
encountered the advanced force of the Eng- 
lish army, under Lieutenant-Colonel Thomas 
Gage, and at once attacked them with spirit. 

The English army at this moment was 
moving along a narrow road, about twelve 
feet in width, with scarcely a scout thrown 
out in advance or upon the flanks. The en- 
gineer who was locating the road was the 
first to discover the enemy, and called out: 
" French and Indians ! " Instantly a heavy 
fire was opened upon Gage's force, and his 
indecision allowed the French and Indians to 
seize a commanding ridge, from which they 
maintained their attack with spirit. 

The regulars were quickly thrown into 
confusion by the heavy fire and the fierce 



yells of the Indians, who could nowhere be 
seen, and their losses were so severe and sud- 
den that they became panic-stricken. 

The only semblance of resistance main- 
tained by the English was by the Virginia 
Rangers, whom Braddock had insulted at the 
beginning of the day's march. Immediately 
upon the commencement of the battle, they 
had adopted the tactics of the Indians, and 
had thrown themselves behind trees, from 
which shelter they were rapidly picking off 
the Indians. Washington entreated Brad- 
dock to follow the example of the Virginians, 
but he refused, and stubbornly endeavored 
to form them in platoons under the fatal 
fire that was being poured upon them by 
their hidden assailants. Thus through his 
obstinacy, many useful lives were lost. 

The officers did not share the panic of the 
men, but behaved with the greatest gallantry. 
They were the especial marks of the Indian 
sharpshooters, and many of them were killed 
or wounded. Two of Braddock's aides were 
seriously wounded, and their duties devolved 
upon Washington in addition to his own. 
He passed repeatedly over the field, carrying 
the orders of the commander and encourag- 
ing the men. When sent to bring up the 
artillery, he found it surrounded by Indians, 
its commander, Sir Peter Halket, killed, and 
the men standing helpless from fear. 

Springing from his horse, he appealed to 
the men to save the guns, pointed a field- 
piece and discharged it at the savages and 
entreated the gunners to rally. He couW 
accomplish nothing by either his words or i 
example. The men deserted the guns and ' 
fled. In a letter to his brother, Washington 
wrote : " I had four bullets through my coat, 1 
two horses shot under me, yet escaped un- ■ 
hurt, though death was levelling my com- 
panions on every side around me." 

James D. McCade 






Descriptive and Dramatic Recitations 



■ — ^■■■'^•■'^ — ■ 

QUICK ! MAN THE LIFE=BOAT ! 

This sefection demands great vivacity and intense dramatic expression. Each reference to the life-boat 
reqLiiies rapid utterance, elevated pitch and strong tones of command. Point to the hfe-boat ; you are to 
see it, and make your audience see it. They will see it in imagination if you do ; that is, if you speak and 
act as if you stood on the shore and actually saw the life-boat hurrying to the rescue. 




UICK ! man the life -boat ! See yon bark 
That drives before the blast ? 

There's a rock ahead, the fog is 
dark, 

And the storm comes thick and fast. 
Can human power, in such an hour, 

Avert the doom that's o'er her? 
Her mainmast's gone, but she still drives on 
To the fatal reef before. 

The life-boat ! Man the life-boat ! 

Quick ! man the life-boat ! hark ! the gun 

Booms through the vapory air; 
And see ! the signal flags are on, 

And speak the ship's despair. 
That forked flash, that pealing crash, 

Seemed from the wave to sweep her : 
She's on the rock, with a terrible shock — 

And the wail comes louder and deeper. 
The life-boat ! Man the life-boat! 



Quick ! man the life-boat ! See- 
Gaze on their watery grave : 

Already, some, a ga.Uant few, 
Are battling with the wave ; 



■the crew 



And one there stands, and Avrings his hand 
As thoughts of home con^ o'er him ; 

For his wife and child, through the tempest wild, 
He sees on the heights before him. 

The life-boat ! Man the life-boat ! 

Speed, speed the life-boat ! Off she goes ! 

And, as they pulled the oar, 
From shore and ship a cheer arose, 

That startled ship and shore. 
Life-saving ark ! yon fated bark 

Has human lives within her; 
_\xid dearer than gold is the wealth untold, 

Thou' It save if thou canst win her. 

On, life-boat ! Speed thee, life-boa^ f 

Hurrah ! the life-boat dashes on. 

Though darkly the reef may frown ; 
The rock is there — the ship is gone 

Full twenty fathoms down. 
But cheered by hope, the seamen cope 

With the billows single-handed ; 
They are all in the boat ! — hurrah ! they're afloat \ 

And now they are safely landed 

By the life-boat ! Cheer the life-boat J 



BEAUTIFUL HANDS. 



(^fr' S I remember the first fair touch 
f^ Of those beautiful hands that I love so 
much, 
seem to thrill as I then was thrilled 
Kissing the glove that I found unfilled— 
When I met your gaze and the queenly bow 
As you said to me laughingly, ^' Keep it now ! " 



M<_^ 



And dazed and alone in a dream I stana 
Kissing the ghost of your beautiful hand. 

When first I loved in the long ago. 
And held your hand as I told you so — 
Pressed and caressed it and gave it a kiss, 
And said, " I could die for a hand like this * *' 

167 



168 



DESCRIPTIVE AND DRAMATIC RECITATIONS. 



Little I dreamed love's fullness yet 

Had I to ripen when eyes were wet, 

And prayers were vain in their wild demands 

For one warm touch of your beautiful hands. 

Beautiful hands ! O, beatitiful hands I 
Could you reach out of the alien lands 



Where you are lingering, and give me to-night 

Only a touch — were it ever so light — 

My heart were soothed, and my weary brain 

Would lull itself into rest again ; 

For there is no solace the Avorld commands 

Like the caress of your beautiful hands. 

Jam'^s Whitcomb Riley, 



THE BURNING SHIR 

The general character of this selection is intensely dramatic. It is a most excellent piece for any one 
who has the ability and training to do it full justice. The emotions of agony, horror and exultation are here, 
and should be made prominent. Let the cry of " Fire ! " ring out in startUng tones, and let your whole 
manner correspond with the danger and the excitement of the scene. The rate throughout should be rapid. 

The figures in the text refer you to the corresponding numbers of Typical Gestures, at the beginning of 
Part 11 of this volume. Insert other gestures of your own. 

(j^ I HE storm o'er the ocean flew furious and 
* I fast, 

-^ And the waves rose in foam at the voice 
of the blast, 
And heavily ^ labored the gale-beaten ship, 
Like a stout-hearted swimmer, the spray at his 

lip; 
And dark^^ was the sky o'er the mariner's path, 
Save when the wild lightning illumined in wrath, 
A young mother knelt in the cabin below, 
And pressing her babe to her bosom of snow, 
She prayed to her God,^° 'mid the hurricane wild, 
"O Father, have mercy, look down on my 
child ! " 



It passed — the fierce whirlwind careered on its 

way. 
And the ship like an arrow '^ divided the spray; 
Her sails glimmered white in the beams of the 

moon, 
And the wind up aloft seemed to whistle a tune 

— to whistle a tune. 

There was joy'* in the ship as she furrowed the 

foam. 
For fond hearts within her were dreaming of 

home. 
The young mother pressed her fond babe to her 

breast. 
And the husband sat clieerily down by her side, 
A.i;d looked with delight on the face of his bride. 



'• Oh, ^^ happy," said he, ^Svhen our roaming is 

o'er, 
We'll dwell in our cottage that stands by the 

shore. 
Already in fancy its roof I descry, 
And the smoke of its hearth curling up to the sky) 
Its garden so green, and its vine-covered wall; 
The kind friends^ awaiting to welcome us all, 
And the children that sport by the ^Id oaken 

tree." 

Ah gently the ship glided over the sea ! 

Hark ! '^ what was that ? Hark ! Hark to the 
shout ! 

' ' Fire ! " ^*^ Then a tramp and a rout, and a 
tumult of voices uprose on the air; — 

And the mother knelt ^ down, and the half- 
spoken prayer, 

That she offered to God in her agony wild. 

Was, ''Father, have mercy, look down on my 
child!" 

She flew to her husband,^ she clung to his side, 

Oh there was her refuge whate'er might betide. 

''Fire!"'° ''Fire!" It was raging above and 

below — 
And the cheeks of the sailors grew pale at the sight , 
And their eyes glistened wild in the glare of the 

light, 
'Twas vain o'er the ravage the waters to drip ; 
The pitiless flame was the lord of the ship, 



DESCRIPTIVE AND DRAMATIC RECITATIONS. 



169 



And tne smoke in thick wreaths mounted higher 

and higher. 
" O God, ^° it is fearful to perish by fire." 
Alone with destruction, alone on the sea, 
" Great Father of mercy, our hope is in thee." 

Sad at heart and resigned, yet undaunted and 

brave, 
They lowered the boat,"^ a mere speck on the 

wave. 
First entered the mother, enfolding her child : 
It knew she caressed it, looked ^^ upward and 

smiled. 



Cold, cold was the night as they drifted away. 
And mistily dawned o'er the pathway the day— 
And they prayed for the light, and at noontide 

about. 
The sun^^ o'er the waters shone joyously out. 

'' Ho ! a sail ! ^ Ho ! a sail ! " cried the man at 

the lee, 
' Ho ! a sail ! " ^ and they turned their glad eyes 

o'er the sea. 
'^ They see us, they see us," the signal is waved | 
They bear down upon us, they bear down upon 

us: Huzza! we are saved." 



THE UNKNOWN SPEAKER, 



IT is the Fourth day of July, 1776. 
In the old State House in the city of 
Philadelphia are gathered half a hundred 
men to strike from their limbs the shackles of 
British despotism. There is silence in the 
hall — every face is turned toward the door 
where the committee of three, who have been 
out all night penning a parchment, are soon 
to enter. The door opens, the committee 
appears. The tali man with the sharp fea- 
tures, the bold brow, and the sand-hued hair, 
holding the parchment in his hand, is a Vir- 
ginia farmer, Thomas Jefferson. That stout- 
built man with stern look and flashing eye, 
is a Boston man, one John Adams. And 
that calm-faced man with hair drooping in 
thick curls to his shoulders, that is the Phil- 
adelphia printer, Benjamin Franklin. 

The three advance to the table. 

The parchment is laid there. 

Shall it be signed or not? A fierce debate 
ensues, Jefferson speaks a few bold words. 
Adams pours out his whole soul. The deep- 
toned voice of Lee is heard, sv/elling in 
syllables of thunder like music. But still 
there is doubt, and one pale-faced man whis- 



pers so 
L{ibbet 



methino; about axes, scaffolds and 



"Gibbet?" echoed a fierce, bold voice 
through the hall. " Gibbet ? They may 
stretch our necks on all the gibbets in the 
land ; they may turn every rock into a scaf- 
fold ; every tree into a gallows ; every home 
into a grave, and yet the words of that parch- 
ment there can never die ! They may pour 
our blood on a thousand scaffolds, and yet 
from every drop that dyes the axe a new 
champion of freedom will spring into birth. 
The British King may blot out the stars of 
God from the sky, but he cannot blot out 
His words written on that parchment there. 
The works of God may perish. His words 
never ! 

'^ The words of this declaration will live 
in the v/orld long after our bones are dust. 
To the mechanic in his workshop they will 
speak hope; to the slave in the mines, free- 
dom ; but to the coward-kings, these words 
will speak in tones of warning they cannot 
choose but hear. 

" They will be terrible as the flaming sylla- 
bles on Belshazzar's wall ! They will speak 
in language startling as the trump of the 
Archangel, saying : ' You have trampled on 
mankind long enough ! At last the voice of 
human woe has pierced the ear of God, and 



170 



DESCRIPTIVE AND DRAMATIC RECITATIONS. 



• 



called His judgment down ! You have 
waded to thrones through rivers of blood ; 
you have trampled on the necks of millions 
of fellow-beings. Now kings, now purple 
hangmen, for you come the days of axes and 
ijibbets and scaffolds.' 

''Such is the message of that declaration 
lo mankind, to the kings of earth. And 
shall we falter now ? And shall we start 
back appalled when our feet touch the very- 
threshold of Freedom ? 

** Sign that parchment ! Sign, if the next 
moment the gibbet's rope is about your 
neck! Sign, if the next minute this hall 
rings with the clash of the falling axes ! 
Sign by all your hopes in life or death as 
men, as husbands, as -fathers, brothers, sign 
your names to the parchment, or be accursed 
forever ! 

" Sign, and not only for yourselves, but for 
all ages, for that parchment will be the text- 
book of freedom — -the Bible of the rights of 
men forever. Nay, do not start and whisper 
with surprise ! It is truth, your own hearts 
witness it ; God proclaims it. Look at this 
strange, history of a band of exiles and out- 
casts, suddenly transformed into a people — a 
handful of men weak in arms — but mighty 
in God-like faith ; nay, look at your recent 
achievements, your Bunker Hill, your Lex- 
ington, and then tell me, if you can, that God 
has not given America to be free ! 

** It is not given to our poor human intel- 
lect to climb to the skies, and to pierce the 
councils of the Almighty One. But me- 
thinks I stand among the awful clouds which 
veil the brightness of Jehovah's throne. 

" Methinks I see the recording angel come 
trembling up to that throne to speak his 
dread message. * Father, the old world is 
baptized in blood. Father, look with one 
glance of thine eternal eye, and behold ever- 
more that terrible sight, man trodden beneath 
t'hc oppressor's feet, nations lost \x\ blood, 



murder and superstition walking hand in 
hand over the graves of their victims, and 
not a single voice to whisper hope to 
man ! ' 

** He stands there, the angel, trembling 
with the record of human guilt. But hark ! 
The voice of Jehovah speaks out from the 
awful cloud : ' Let there be light again 1 
Tell my people, the poor and oppressed, to 
go out from the old world, from oppres- 
sion and blood, and build my altar in the 
new ! ' 

"As I live, my friends, I believe that to be 
His voice ! Yes, were my soul trembhng on 
the verge of eternity, were this hand freezing ( 
in death, were this voice choking in the last 
struggle, I would still with the last impulse 
of that soul, with the last wave of that hand, 
with the last gasp of that voice, implore 
you to remember this truth — God has given 
America to be free ! Yes, as T sank into the 
gloomy shadows of the grave, with my last 
faint w^hisper I would beg you to sign that 
parchment for the sake of the millions whose 
very breath is now hushed m intense expec- 
tation as they look up to you for the awful 
words, ' You are free ! ' ' 

The unknown speaker fell exhausted in his 
seat; but the work was done. 

A wild murmur runs through the hall. 
*' Sign ! " There is no doubt now. Look 
how they rush forward.' Stout-hearted John 
Hancock has scarcely time to sign his bold 
name before the pen is grasped by another — 
another and another. Look how the names 
blaze on the parchments Adams and Lee, 
Jefferson and Carroll, Franklin and Sherman. 

And now the parchment is signed. 

Now, old man in the steeple, now bare you»' 
arm and let the bell speak ! Hark to the 
music of that bell ! Is there not a poetry in 
that sound, a poetry more sublime than thai 
of Shakespeare and Milton ? Is there not a 
music in that sound that reminds you of those: 



DESCRIPTIVE AND DRAMATIC RECITATIONS. 



ITl 



sublime tones which broke from angel lips 
when the news of the child Jesus burst on 
the hill-tops of Bethlehem ? For the tones 



of that bell now come pealing, pealing, peal- 
ing, " Independence now and Independence 
forever." 



•MM- 

CHILD LOST. 

It used to be a custom to have a man go through the town ringing a bell and " crying '' any thing was 
lost. You should imitate the crier, at the same time swinging your hand as if ringing a bell. This selection 
requires a great variety in the manner, pitch of the voice and gestures of the reader. 




INE," by the Cathedral clock ! 
Chill the air with rising damps ; 
Drearily from block to block 
In the gloom the bellman 
tramps — 
'^ Child lost! Child lost! 

Blue eyes, curly hair, 
Pink dress — child lost ! " 

Something in the doleful strain 

Makes the dullest listener start; 
And a sympathetic pain 

Shoot to every feeling heart. 
Anxious fathers homeward haste, 

Musing with paternal pride 
Of their daughters, happy-faced, 

Silken-haired and sparkling-eyed. 
Many a tender mother sees 

Younglings playing round her chair, 
Thinking, "If 'twere one of these, 

How could I the anguish bear? " 

"Ten," the old Cathedral sounds; 
Dark and gloomy are the streets; 
Still the bellman goes his rounds. 
Still his doleful cry repeats — 
*^ Oh, yes ! oh, yes ! 

Child lost ! Blue eyes, 
Curly hair, pink dress — 
Child lost! Child lost!" 

"Can't my little one be found? 

Are there any tidings, friend ? " 
Cries the mother, '' Is she drowned? 

Is she stolen ? God forfend ! 



Search the commons, search the parks, 

Search the doorway and the halls, 
Search the alleys, foul and dark, 

Search the empty market stalls. 
Here is gold and silver — see ! 

Take it all and welcome, man ; 
Only bring my child to me, 

Let me have my child again." 

Hark ! the old Cathedral bell 

Peals " eleven," and it sounds 
To the mother like a knell ; 

Still the bellman goes his rounds. 
"Child lost! Child lost! 

Blue eyes, curly hair. 
Pink dress — child lost ! " 

Half aroused from dreams of peace. 

Many hear the lonesome call, 
Then into their beds of ease 

Into deeper slumber fall; 
But the anxious mother cries, 

" Oh, my darling's curly hair! 
Oh, her sweetly-smiling eyes ! 

Have you sought her everywhere? 
Long and agonizing dread 

Chills my heart and drives me wild— 
What if Minnie should be dead ? 

God, in mercy, find my child ! " 

"Twelve" by the Cathedral clock; 
Dimly shine the midnight lamps; 
Drearily from block to block, 
In the rain the bellman tramps. 
"Child lost! Child lost! 

Blue eyes, curly hair. 
Pink dress— child lost I" 



172 



i)ESCRIPTIVE AND DRAMATIC RECITATIONS. 



THE CAPTAIN AND THE FIREMAN. 




PIN us a yarn of the sea, old man, 
About some captain bold, 
Who steered his ship and made her 
slip 
Wlien the sea and the thunder rolled ; 
Some tale that will stir the blood, you know. 
Like the pirate tales of old. 

'' It v.as the old ' tramp' Malabar, 
With coal for Singapore ; 
* The captain stood upon the bridge ' 

And loud the wind did roar, 
A.id far upon the starboard bow 
We saw the stormy shore. 

<' The night came down as black as pitch; 

More loud the wind did blow ; 
The waves made wreck around the deck 

And washed us to and fro ; 
But half the crew, though wild it blew. 

Were sleeping down below. 

' ' ' The captain stood upon the bridge,' 

And I was at the wheel ; 
The waves were piling all around. 

Which made the old * tank ' reel. 
When — smash ! there came an awful crash 

That shook the ribs of steel. 

*' * We've struck a wreck ! ' * Stand by the 
pumps ! ' 
Her plates were gaping wide ; 
And out her blood streamed in the flood, 

The wreck had bruised her side ; 
Her coal poured out — her inky blood — 
And stained the foaming tide. 

" * The captain stood upon the bridge,* 
The firemen down below ; 
He saw and knew what he could do. 

While they but heard the blow. 
The bravest man is he that stands 
Against an unseen foe. 

" ' All hands on deck ! ' was now the cry, 
* For we are sinking fast ; 



Our boats were stove by that last wave — 
This night will be our last ; 

There's not a plank on board the tank,' 
She's steel, from keel to mast.' 

^' ' The captain stood upon the bridge; * 
All hands were now on deck; 

The waves went down, the sun came up, 
We saw the drifting wreck. 

And there, upon the starboard bow, 
The land— a distant speck. 

'* * Who'll go below and fire her up ? " 
The captain loud did roar. 
* We're dumping coal with every roll, 

But, see ! the storm is o'er ; 
And I will stand upon the bridge, 
And guide her to the shore.' 

'* * I'll go for one,' said old ' Tramp Jim,' 
' And shovel in the coal. 
I'll go,' said Jim, all black and grim, 
' Though death be down that hole ; 
I've heard a man who dies for men 
Is sure to save his soul. 

^^ * So turn the steam into that mill, 

And let it spin around. 
And I will feed the old thing coal 

Till you be hard aground ; 
I'll go alone, there's none to moan, 

If old * Tramp Jim ' be drowned I * 

''He went below and fired lier up. 

The steam began to roar ; 
' The captain stood upon the bridge ' 

And steered her for the shore ; 
The ship was sinking by the bow, 
Her race was nearly o'er. 

"The water rose around poor Jim, 

Down in the fire-room there. 

'I'll shovel in the coal,' he gasped, 

' 'Till the water wets me hair — 

The Lord must take me as I am, 

I have no time for prayer.' 



DESCRIPTIVE AND DRAMATIC RECITATIONS. 



173 



^' ' The captain stood upon the bridge.* 
(Oh, hang that phrase, I say ! 
'The firemen bravely stood below,' 

Suits more this time of day,) 
Old Jim kept shovelling in the coal, 
Though it was time to pray. 



** And every soul was saved, my lads, 
Why do I speak it low ? 



I 



The Lord took Jim, all black and grim. 
And made him white as snow. 

Some say, ' the captain on the bridge,' 
But I say, ' Jim below ! ' " 

W. B. COLLISON. 



THE FACE ON THE FLOOR. 

This is one of many recitations in this volume that have proved their popularity by actual test. 
Face on the Floor," when well recited, holds the hearers spell-bound. 



The 




WAS a balmy summer evening, and a goodly 
crowd was there 
That well nigh filled Joe's barroom on 
the corner of the square. 
And as songs and witty stories came through the 

open door ; 
A vagabond crept slowly in and posed upon the 
floor. 

** Where did it come from?" some one said; 

** The wind has blown it in." 

*'What does it want?" another cried, "Some 

whiskey, beer or gin ? ' ' 
" Here. Toby, seek him, if your stomach's equal 

to the work, 
I wouldn't touch him with a fork, he's as filthy 

as a Turk." 

This badinage the poor wretch took with stoical 
good grace, 

In fact, he smiled as if he thought he'd struck the 
proper place; 

"Come, boys, I know there's kindly hearts 
among so good a crowd ; 

To be in such good company would make a dea- 
con proud. 

"Give me a drink! That's what I want, I'm 

out of funds, you know, 
When I had cash to treat the gang, this hand 

was never slow ; 
What ? You laugh as if you thought this pocket 

never held a sou ; 
I once was fixed as well, my boys, as any one of 

you. 



"There, thanks, that braced me nicely, God 
bless you, one and all. 

Next time I pass this good saloon I'll make another 
call; 

Give you a song? No, I can't do that, my sing- 
ing days are past. 

My voice is cracked, my throat's worn out and 
my lungs are going fast. 

" Say, give me another whiskey and I'll tell you 

what I'll do — 
I'll tell you a funny story, and a fact, I promise, 

too; 
That I was ever a decent man, not one of you 

would think, 
But I was, some four or five years back, say, give 

us another drink. 

" Fill her up, Joe, I want to put some life into 
my frame — 

Such little drinks to a bum like me are miserably 
tame ; 

Five fingers — there, that's the scheme — and cork- 
ing whiskey, too, 

Well, boys, here's luck, and landlord, my best 
regards to you. * 

"You've treated me pretty kindly and I'd like 

to tell you how 
I came to be the dirty sot you see before you now: 
As I told you, once I was a man, with muscle, 

frame and health. 
And, but for a blunder, ought to have made 

considerable wealth. 
" I was a painter — not one that daubed on bricks 

and wood. 



174 



DESCRIPTIVE AND DRAMATIC RECITATIONS. 



But an artist, and, for my age, was rated pretty 

good; 
I worked hard at my canvas, and was bidding fair 

to rise ; 
For gradually I saw the star of fame before my 

eyes. 

*'I made a picture, perhaps you've seen, 'tis 

called the Chase of Fame; 
•i brought me fifteen hundred pounds, and added 

to my name; 
Ana men, I met a woman — now comes the funny 

part— 
With eyes that petrified my brain, and sunk into 

my heart. 

"Why don't you laugi^? *Tis funny that the 
vagabond you see 

Could ever love a woman and expect her love 
for me ; 

But 'twas so, and for a month or two her smile 
was freely given ; 

And when her loving lips touched mine, it car- 
ried me to heaven. 

"Boys, did you ever see a girl for whom your 

soul you'd give, 
With a form like the Milo Venus, too beautiful 

to live. 
With eyes that would beat the Kohinoor and a 

wealth of chestnut hair? 
If so, 'twas she, for there never was another half 

so fair. 

" I was working on a portrait one afternoon in 

May, 
Of a fair-haired boy, a friend of mine who lived 

across the way. 



And Madeline admired it, and much to my surprise, 
Said that she'd like to know the man that had 
such dreamy eyes. 

'*It didn't take long to know him, and before 

the month had flown/ 
My friend had stole my darling, and I was left 

alone ; 
And ere a year of misery had passed above my head, 
The jewel I had treasured so had tarnished and 

was dead. 

"That's why I took to drink, boys. Why, I 
never saw you smile, 

I thought you'd be amused and laughing all the 
while ; 

Why, what's the matter, friend? There's a tear- 
drop in your eye, 

Come, laugh like me, 'tis only babes and women 
that should cry. 

''Say, boys, if you'll give me another whiskey, 

I'll be glad. 
And I'll draw right here, the picture of the face 

that drove me mad ; 
Give me that piece of chalk with which you mark 

the base-ball score — 
And you shall see the lovely Madeline upon the 

bar-room floor." 

Another drink, and with chalk in hand, the vag- 
abond began 

To sketch a face that well might buy the goul of 
any man, 

Then, as he placed another lock upon the shapely 
head, 

With a fearful shriek he leaped and fell across 
the picture — dead. 

H. Antoine D'Arcy. 



1 



THE ENGINEER'S STORY. 



d 



K'SOM, stranger? Yes, she's purty 
an' ez peart ez she can be. 
Clever? Wy ! she ain't no chicken, 
but she's good enough fur me. 
What's her name ? 'Tis kind o' common, yit I 

ain't ashamed to tell. 
She's ole "Fiddler" Filkin's daughter, an' her 
dad he calls her " Nell." 



I wuz drivin' on the " Central " jist about a year 

ago 
On the run from Winnemucca up to Reno in 

Washoe. 
There's no end o' skeery places. 'Taint a road 

fur one who dreams. 
With its curves an' awful tres'les over rocks an' 

mountain streams. 



DESCRIPTIVE AND DRAMATIC RECITATIONS. 



175 






*Twuz an afternoon iii August, we hed got be- 
hind an hour 

An' wuz tearin' up the mountain like a summer 
thunder-shower, 

Round the bends an' by the hedges 'bout ez fast 
ez we could go, 

With the mountain-peaks above us an' the river 
down below. 

Ez we come nigh to a tres'le 'cros't a holler, 

deep an' wild. 
Suddenly I saw a baby, 'twuz the stationkeeper's 

child, 
Toddlin' right along the timbers with a bold and 

fearless tread 
Right afore the locomotive, not a hundred rods 

ahead. 

1 jist jumped an' grabbed the throttle an' I fa'rly 

held my breath, 
Fur I felt I couldn't stop her till the child wuz 

crushed to death, 
When a woman sprang afore me like a sudden 

streak o' light, 
Caught the boy and twixt the timbers in a second 

sank from sight. 



I jist whis'l'd all the brakes on. An' we worked 

with might an' main 
Till the fire flew from the drivers, but we couldn't 

stop the train, 
An' it rumbled on above her. How she screamed 

ez we rolled by 
An' the river roared below us — I shall hear her 

till I die ! 

Then we stop't ; the sun was shinin' ; I ran back 

along the ridge 
An' I found her — dead? No! livin' ! She wuz 

hangin' to the bridge 
Wher she drop't down thro' the cross-ties with 

one arm about a sill 
An' the other round the baby, who wuz yelliu* 

fur to kill ! 

So we saved 'em. She wuz gritty. She's ez 

peart ez she kin be — 
Now we're married ; she's no chicken, but she's 

good enough fur me, 
An' ef eny ask who owns her, wy ! I ain't 

ashamed to tell — 
She's my wife. Ther' ain't none better than ole 

Filkin's daughter " Nell." 

Eugene J. Hall. 



JIM. 



?ST"E was jes' a plain, ever' -day, all-round 

kind of a jour., 
[S \ Consumpted lookin' — but la! 

The jokeyest, wittyest, story-tellin', 
song-singin', laughin'est, jolliest 
Feller you ever saw ! 
Worked at jes' coarse work, but you kin bet he 
was fine enough in his talk. 
And his feelin's, too I 
|Lordy I ef he was on'y back on his bench again 
to-day, a carryin' on 
Like he ust to do ! 

Any shop-mate' 11 tell you they never was on top 
o'dirt 

A better feller'n Jim ! 
You want a favor, and couldn't git it anywheres 
'^Ise — 

You could git it o' him ! 



'Most free-heartedest man thataway in the world, 
I guess ! 

Give ever' nickel he's worth — 
And, ef you'd a-wanted it, and named it to him, 
and it was his. 

He'd a-give you the earth ! 

Alius a-reachin' out, Jim was and a-helpin' 
some 

Poor feller onto his feet — 
He'd a-never a-keered how hungry he was his 
se'f. 

So's the feller got somepin to eat ! 
Didn't make no difference at all to him how he 
was dressed, 

He used to say to me : 
''You tog out a tramp purty comfortable in win- 
ter-time. 

And he'll git along I " says he. 



176 



DESCRIPTIVE AND DRAMATIC RECITATIONS. 

it rahead, so 



Jim didn't have, nor never could 
overly much 

O' this world's goods at a time — 
'Fore now I've saw him, more'n onc't lend a 
dollar and ha'f to 

Turn 'round and borry a dime ! 
Mebby laugh and joke about hisse'f fer awhile — 
then jerk his coat, 

And kind o' square his chin, 
Tie his apern, and squat hisse'f on his old shoe 
bench 

And go peggin' agin. 

Patientest feller, too, I reckon, at every jes' nat- 
urally 

Coughed hisse'f to death ! 
Long enough after his voice was lost he'd laugh 
and say, 

He could git ever' thing but his breath — 



''You fellers," he'd sort o' twinkle his eyes and 
say, 

" Is pilin' onto me 
A mighty big debt for that air little weak-chested 
ghost o' mine to pack 
Through all eternity ! " 

Now there was a man 'at jes' 'peared like to me, 

'At ortn't a-never died ! 
''But death hain't a-showin no favors," the old 
boss said, 

" On'y to Jim," and cried : 
And Wigger, 'at put up the best sewed work in 
the shop, 

Er the whole blamed neighborhood, 
He says, "When God made Jim, I bet you He 
didn't do anything else that day. 
But jes' set around and feel good." 

James Whitcomb Riley, 



QUEEN VASHTI'S LAMENT. 



Is this all the love that he bore me, my hus- 
band, to publish my face 
To the nobles of Media and Persia, whose 
hearts are besotted and base ? 
Did he think me a slave, me, Vashti, the Beauti- 
ful, me. Queen of queens, 
To summon me thus for a show to the midst of 
his bacchanal scenes ? 

I stand like an image of brass, I, Vashti, in sight 

of such men ! 
No, sooner, a thousand times sooner, the mouth 

of the lioness' den, 
When she's fiercest with hunger and love for the 

nungry young lions that tear 
Her teats with sharp, innocent teeth, I would 

enter, far rather than here ! 

Did he love me, or is he, too, though the King, 

but a brute like the rest ! 
I have seen him in wine, and I fancied 'twas then 

that he loved me the best ; 
Though I think I would rather have one sweet, 

passionate word from the heart 
iThan a year of caresses that may with the wine 

that creates them depart. 



But ever before, in his wine, toward me he 

showed honor and grace ; 
He was King, I was Queen, and those nobles, he 

made them remember their place. 
But now all is changed ; I am vile, they are 

honored, they push me aside, 
A butt for Memucan and Shethar and Meres, gone 

mad in their pride ! 

Shall I faint, shall I pine, shall I sicken and die 

for the loss of his love ? 
Not I ; I am queen of myself, though the stars 

fall from heaven above. 
The stars 1 ha ! the torment is there, for my 

light is put out by a star. 
That has dazzled the eyes of the King and his 

court and his captains of war. 

He was lonely, they say, and he looked, as he 

sat like a ghost at his wine, 
On the couch by his side, where, of yore his 

Beautiful used to recline. 
But the King is a slave to his pride, to his oath 

and the laws of the Medes, 
And he cannot call Vashti again though his poor 

heart is wounded and bleeds. 



4' 



DESCRIPTIVE AND DRAMATIC RECITATIONS. 



177 



So they sought through the land for a wife, while 
the King thought of me all the while — 

I can see him, this moment, with eyes that are 
lost for the loss of a smile, 

Gazing dreamily on while each maiden is tempt- 
ingly passed in review, 

While the love in his heart is awake with the 
I thought of a face that he knew ! 

Tlien she came when his heart was grown weary 

with loving the dream of the past ! 
She is fair — I could curse her for that, if I 

thought that this passion would last ! 
But e'en if it last, all the love is for me, and, 

through good and through ill. 
The King shall remember his Vashti, shall think 

of his Beautiful still. 

Oh ! the day is a weary burden, the night is a 

restless strife, — 
I am sick to the very heart of my soul, with this 

life — this death in life ! 
Oh ! that the glorious, changeless sun would 

draw me up in his might, 
And quench my dreariness in the flood of his 

everlac<^ing light ! 



What is it? Oft as I lie awake and my pillow is 
wet with tears. 

There comes — it came to me just r,ow — a flash, 
then disappears ; 

A flash of thought that makes this life a re-en- 
acted scene, 

That makes me dream what was, will be, and 
what is now, has been. 

And I, when age on age has rolled, shall sit cv. 

the royal throne. 
And the King shall love his Vashti, his Beautiful, 

his own. 
And for the joy of what has been and what again 

will be, 
I'll try to bear this awful weight of lonely misery i 

The star ! Queen Esther ! blazing light that 

burns into my soul ! 
The star ! the star ! Oh ! flickering light of life 

beyond control ! 
O King ! remember Vashti, thy Beautiful, thy 

own. 
Who loved thee and shall love thee still, when 

Esther's light has flown ! 

John Reade. 



THE SKELETON'S STORY. 

Tt will require all the dramatic power of which you are capable to recite this selection and do it 
full justice. Be wide-awake, quick in tone and gesture, shouting at one time, whispering at another, 
speaking with your whole body. The emotions of fear and horror are especially prominent. 



IT is two miles ahead to the foot-hills — 
tv^^o miles of parched turf and rocky 
space. To the right — the left — be- 
hind, is the rolling prairie. This broad val- 
ley strikes the Sierra Nevadas and stops as 
if a wall had been built across it. 

Ride closer ! What is this on the grass ? 
A skull here — a rib there — bones scattered 
about as the wild beasts left them after the 
horrible feast. The clean-picked skull grins 
and stares — every bone and scattered lock 
of hair has its story of a tragedy. And what 
besides these relics? More bones — not 
scattered, but lying in heaps — a vertebra 

(12— X) 



with ribs attached — a fleshless skull bleach- 
ing under the summer sun. Wolves ! Yes. 
Count the heaps of bones and you will 
find nearly a score. Open boats are pickei 
up at sea with neither life nor sign to 
betray their secret. Skeletons are found 
upon the prairie, but they tell a plain story 
to those who halt beside them. Let us 
listen : 

Away off to the right you can see tree- 
tops. Away off to the left you can see the 
same sight. The '^ikeleton is in line between 
the two points. He left one grove to ride 
to the other. To ride ! Certainly ; a mile 



178 



DESCRIPTIVE AND DRAMATIC RECITATIONS. 



away is the skeleton of a horse or mule. The 
beast fell and was left there. 

It is months since that ride, and the trail 
has been obliterated. Were it otherwise, 
and you took it up from the spot where the 
skeleton horse now lies, you would find the last 
three or four miles made at a tremendous pace. 

"Step! step! step!" 

What is it ? Darkness has gathered over 
mountain and prairie as the hunter jogs along 
over the broken ground. Overhead the 
countless stars look down upon him — around 
him is the pall of night. There was a patter 
of footsteps on the dry grass. He halts and 
peers around him, but the darkness is too deep 
for him to discover any cause for alarm. 

"Patter! patter! patter!" 

There it is again ! It is not fifty yards 
from where he last halted. The steps are 
too light for those of an Indian. 

" Wolves ! " whispers the hunter, as a 
howl suddenly breaks upon his ear. 

Wolves 1 The gaunt, grizzly wolves of the 
foot-hills — thin and poor and hungry and sav- 
age — the legs tireless — the mouth full of teeth 
which can crack the shoulder-bone of a buffalo. 
He can see their dark forms flitting from point 
to point — the patter of their feet upon the 
parched grass proves that he is surrounded. 

Now the race begins. A line of wolves 
spread out to the right and left, and gallops 
after — tongues out — eyes flashing — great 
flakes of foam flying back to blotch stone 
and grass and leave a trail to be followed by 
the cowardly coyotes. 

Men ride thus only when life is the stake. A 
horse puts forth such speed only when terror 
follows close behind and causes every nerve to 
tighten like a wire drawn until the scratch of 
a finger makes it chord with a wail of despair. 
The line is there — aye! it is gaining! Inch by 
inch it creeps up, and the red eye takes on a 
more savage gleam as the hunter cries out to 
his horse and opens fire from his revolvers. 



A wolf falls on the right — a second on the 
left. Does the wind cease blowing because it 
meets a forest ! The fall of one man in a mad 
mob increases the determination of the rest. 

With a cry so full of the despair that wells 
up from the heart of the strong man when 
he gives up his struggle for life that the 
hunter almost believes a companion rides 
beside him, the horse staggers — recovers — 
plunges forward — falls to the earth. It was 
a glorious struggle ; but he has lost. 

There is a confused heap of snarling, fight- 
ing, maddened beasts, and the line rushes 
forward again. Saddle, bridle, and blanket 
are in shreds — the horse a skeleton. And 
now the chase is after the hunter. He has 
half a mile the start, and as he runs the veins 
stand out, the m.uscles tighten, and he won* 
ders at his own speed. Behind him are the 
gaunt bodies and the tireless legs. Closer, 
closer, and now he is going to face fate like 
a brave man should. He has halted. In an 
instant a circle is formed about him — a cir- 
cle of red eyes, foaming mouths, and yellow 
fangs which are to meet in his flesh. 

There is an interval — a breathing spell. 
He looks up at the stars — out upon the night. 
It is his last hour, but there is no quaking — 
no crying out to the night to send him aid. 
As the wolves rest, a flash blinds their eyes 
— a second — a third — and a fourth, and they 
give before the man they had looked upon 
as their certain prey. But it is only for a 
moment He sees them gathering for the 
rush, and firing his remaining bullets among 
them he seizes his long rifle by the barrel 
and braces to meet the shock. Even a sav- 
age would have admired the heroic fight he 
made for life. He sounds the war-cry and 
whirls his weapon around him, and wolf 
after wolf falls disabled. He feels a strange 
exultation over the desperate combat, and as 
the pack give way before his mighty blows a 
gleam of hope springs up in his heart. 



DESCRIPTIVE AND DRAMATIC RECITATIONS. 



179 



day — the stars of evening will look down 
upon grinning skull and whitening bones^ 
and the wolf will return to crunch them 
again. Men will not bury them. They will 
look down upon them as we look, and ride 
away with a feeling that 'tis but another dark 
isecret of the wonderful prairie. 

THE LADY AND THE EARL. 

The figures in the text of this piece indicate the gestures to be made, as shown in Typical Gestures, at 
the beginning of Part II. of this volume. 



It is only for a moment; then the circle 
narrows. Each disabled beast is replaced 
by three which hunger for blood. There is 
a rush — a swirl— and the cry of despair is 
drowned in the chorus of snarls as the pack 
fight over the feast. 

The gray of morning — the sunlight of noon- 



ISAW her in the festive halls, in scenes of 
pride and ^^ glee, 
'Mongst many beautiful and fair, but none 
so fair as she ; 
Her's was the most attractive^ form that mingled 

in the scene, 
And all who saw her said she moved a goddess 
and a queen. 

The diamond blazed in her dark hair and bound 
her polished brow, 

And precious gems were clasped around her swan- 
like neck of snow ; 

And Indian looms had lent their stores to form 
her sumptuous dress, 

And art with nature joined to grace her passing 
loveliness. 

I looked upon her and I said, who* is so blessed 

as she? 
A creature she all light and life, all beauty and 

all glee; 
Sure,^ sweet content blooms on her cheek and on 

her brow a pearl. 
And she was^ young and innocent, the Lady of 

the Earl. 

But as I looked more carefully, I saw that radiant 

smile 
Was but assumed in mockery, the unthinking to 

• to beguile. 
Thus have I seen a summer rose in all its beauty 

bloom, 
When it has^^ shed its sweetness o'er a cold and 

lonely tomb. 



She struck the harp, and when they praised her 

skill she turned aside, 
A rebel tear of conscious woe^° and memory to 

hide; 
But wlien she raised her head she looked so^^ 

lovely, so serene. 
To gaze in her proud eyes you'd think a tear had 

seldom been. 

The humblest maid in rural life can ^ boast a hap- 
pier fate 

Than she, the beautiful and good, in all her rank 
and state; 

For she was sacrificed,^" alas! to cold and selfish 
pride 

When her young lips had breathed the vow to be 
a soldier's bride. 

Of late I viewed her move along,' the idol of the 
crowd ; 

A few short months elapsed, and then,^^ I kissed 
her in her shroud ! 

And o'er her splendid monument I saw the hatch- 
ment wave. 

But there was one proud heart ^ which did more 
honor to her grave. 

A warrior dropped his plumed head upon her 

place of rest, 
And with his feverish lips the name of Ephilinda 

pressed ; 
Then breathed a prayer, and checked the groan 

of parting pain, 
And as he left the tomb he said," " ^et we shall 

meet again." 



180 



DESCRIPTIVE AND DRAMATIC RECITATIONS. 



MY VESPER SONG, 



KILLED with weariness and pain, 
Scarcely strong enough to pray, 
In this twilight hour I sit, 
Sit and sing my doubts away. 
O'er my broken purposes, 

Ere the coming shadows roll, 
Let me build a bridge of song : 
*' Jesus, lover of my soul." 

*' Let me to Thy bosom fly ! " 

How the words my thoughts repeat : 
To Thy bosom, Lord, I come. 

Though unfit to kiss Thy feet. 
Once I gathered sheaves for Thee, 

Dreaming I could hold them fast : 
Now I can but faintly sing, 

'' Oh ! receive my soul at last." 

I am weary of my fears, 

Like a child when night comes on : 
In the shadow, Lord, I sing, 

" Leave, oh, leave me not alone." 



Through the tears I still must shedj 
Through the evil yet to be^ 

Though I falter while I sing, 

" Still support and comfort me." 

'* All my trust on Thee is stayed ; " 

Does the rhythm of the song 
Softly falling on my heart, 

Make its pulses firm and strong? 
Or is this Thy perfect peace. 

Now descending while I sing, 
That my soul may sleep to-night 

" 'Neath the shadow of Thy wing ? *' 

' Thou of life the fountain art ; " 

If I slumber on Thy breast. 
If I sing myself to sleep, 

Sleep and death alike are rest. 
Not impatiently I sing. 

Though I lift my hands and cry 
'■' Jesus, lover of my soul. 

Let me to Thy bosom fly." 



THE VOLUNTEER ORGANIST, 



With distinct enunciation give the dialect in this 
is telling this story. Guard against being vulgar or 



6|The 



gret big church wuz crowded full uv 
broadcloth an' of silk, 
An' satins rich as cream thet grows on our 
ol' brindle's milk ; 
Shined boots, biled shirts, stiff dickeys, an' stove- 
pipe hats were there. 
An' dudes 'ith trouserloons so tight they couldn't 

kneel down in prayer. 
The elder in his poolpit high said, as he slowly riz : 
' ' Our organist is kep' to hum, laid up 'ith roomatiz, 
An' as we hev no substitoot, as brother Moore 

ain't here, 
Will some 'un in the congregation be so kind 's 
to volunteer ? " 

An' then a red- nosed, blear-eyed tramp, of low- 
toned, rowdy style. 

Give an interductory hiccup, an' then swaggered 
up the aisle. 



piece, and assume the character of a countryman Wian 
too commonplace. 

Then thro' that holy atmosphere there crep' s 

sense er sin. 
An* thro' thet air of sanctity the odor uv oV 

gin. 

Then Deacon Purington he yelled, his teeth all 

set on edge : 
''This man perfanes the house er God! W'y, 

this is sacrilege ! " 
The tramp didn* hear a word he said, but sloucht I 

'ith stumblin' feet. 
An' stalked an' swaggered up the steps, an' gained 

the organ seat. 

He then went pawin' thro' the keys, an' soon 

there rose a strain 
Thet seemed to jest bulge out Che heart, an' 'lec- 

trify the brain ; 




PHOTO. BY MORRISON, CHICAGO 

"DO YOU KNOW ME NOW? 



i 




PHOTO, t ^ ■■ ') --I^ON , r ; 

"I'VE per THH SOIII^ OF LAUGHTER IN MY FACE. 



DESCRIPTIVE AND DRAMATIC RECITATIONS. 



181 



An* then he slapped down on the thing 'ith hands 

an' head an' knees, 
He slam-dashed his hull body down kerflop upon 

the keys. 

The organ roared, the music flood went sweepin' 

high an' dry. 
It swelled into the rafters, an' bulged out into 

the sky; 
The ol' church shook and staggered, an' seemed 

to reel an' sway, 
An' the elder shouted " Glory! " an' I yelled out 

''Hooray! " 

An' then he tried a tender strain thet melted in 

our ears, 
Thet brought up blessed memories and drenched 

'em down 'ith tears; 
An' we dreamed uv ol' time kitchens, 'ith Tabby 

on the mat, 
Tu home an' luv an' baby days, an' mother, an' 

all that ! 

An' then he struck a streak uv hope — a song from 
souls forgiven — 



Thet burst from prison bars uv sin, an' stormed 

the gates uv heaven ; 
The morning stars together sung — no soul wuz 

left alone — 
We felt the universe wuz safe, an' God was on 

His throne ! 

An' then a wail of deep despair an' darkness 

come again. 
An' long, black crape hung on the doors uv all 

the homes uv men ; 
No luv, no light, no joy, no hope, no songs of 

glad delight, 
An' then — the tramp, he swaggered down an' 

reeled out into the night ! 

But we knew he'd tol' his story, tho' he never 

spoke a word. 
An' it was the saddest story thet our ears had 

ever heard ; 
He hed tol' his own life history, an' no eye was 

dry thet day. 
Wen the elder rose an' simply said: *'My 

brethren, let us pray." S. W. Foss. 



COMIN' THRO' THE RYE, 



(jjVF a body meet a body 
J I Comin' thro' the rye, 

JJ_ If a body Tiiss a body, 

Need a body cry? 
Ev'ry lassie has her laddie, 

Nane they say ha'e I, 
Yet all the lads they smile at me 

When comin' thro' the rye. 

If a body meet a body, 
Comin' frae the town ; 

If a body meet a body. 
Need a body frown ? 



JOAN OF ARC. 



Ev'ry lassie has her laddie, 

Nane they say ha'e I, 
Yet all the lads they smile at me 

When comin' thro' the rye. 

Amang the train there is a swain, 

I dearly love mysel'. 
But what's his name, or where' s his hame 

I dinna choose to tell. 
Ev'ry lassie has her laddie, 

Nane they say ha'e I, 
Yet all the lads they smik at me 

When comin* thro' the rye. 

Robert Burns. 




I 



^1 j WAS in the days of chivalry, when steel- 
clad warriors swore 
To bear their ladies' favors amidst the 
battle's roar, 



To right the wrongs of injured maids, the lance 

in rest to lay. 
And nobly fall in honor* 3 cause pr triumph in 

the fray, 



18:i 



DESCRIPTIVE AND DRAMATIC RECITATIONS. 



But not to-day a lance is couched, no waving 
plume is there, 

No war-horse sniffs the trumx^et's breath, no ban- 
ner woes the air ; 

No crowding chiefs the tilt-yard throng to quench 
the thirst of fame, 

Though chiefs are met, intent to leave their 
names eternal shame ! 

A still and solemn silence reigned, deep darkness 
veiled the skies, 

And Nature, shuddering, shook to see the im- 
pious sacrifice ! 

Full in the centre of the lists a dreadful pile is 
reared, 

Awaiting one whose noble soul death's terrors 
never feared, 

Gaul's young Minerva, who had led her country- 
men to fame, 

And foremost in the battle rent that conquered 
country's chain ; 

Who, when the sun of fame had set that on its 
armies shone. 

Its broken ranks in order set, inspired and led 
them on ; 

The low-born maid that, clad in steel, restored a 
fallen king, 

Who taught the vanquished o'er their foes trium- 
phal songs to sing ; 

Whose banner in the battle's front the badge of 
conquest streamed, 

And built again a tottering throne, a forfeit 
crown redeemed ! 

But when her glorious deeds were done. Fate 

sent a darker day. 
The blaze of brightness faded in murkiest clouds 

away ; 
And France stood looking idly on, nor dared to 

strike a blow, 
Her guardian angel's life to save, but gave it to 

the foe ! 
Ungrateful France her saviour's fate beheld with 

careless smile. 
While Sup' rstition, hiding hate and vengeance, 

fired the pile ! 

What holy horror of her crime is looked by 
yonder priest, 



Like that grim bird that hovers nigh, and scents 

the funeral feast ! 
Is this the maiden's triumph, won in battle's 

dreadful scenes, 
Whose banner so triumphant flew before thy 

walls, Orleans I 

Hark to the trumpet's solemn sound ! Low roll 
the muffled drums 

As slowly through the silent throng the sad pro- 
cession comes ; 

Wrapp'd in the garments of the grave, the corselet 
laid aside, 

Still with Bellona's step she treads, through all 
her woes descried. 

As beautiful her features now as when inspired 

she spoke 
Those oracles that slumbering France to life and 

action woke : 
The majesty yet haunts her looks, that late so 

dreadful beamed 
In war, when o'er her burnished arms the long 

rich tresses streamed, 
She gazes on the ghastly pile, tho' pale as marble 

stone ; 
'Twas not with fear, for from her lips escaped no 

sigh nor groan ; 
But she, her country's saviour, thus to render up 

her bre.th — 
That was a pang far worse than all the bitterness 

of death ! 

'Twas done; the blazing pile is fired, the flames 

have wrapped her round ; 
The owlet shrieked, and circling flew with dull, 

foreboding sound ; 
Fate shuddered at the ghastly sight, and smiled 

a ghostly smile ; 
And fame and honor spread their wings above 

the funeral pile. 
But, phoenix-like, her spirit rose from out the 

burning flame, 
More beautiful and bright by far than in her 

days of fame. 
Peace to her spirit ! Let us give her mcu.or\' X(^ 

renown, 
Nor on her faults or failings dwell, but dinv, f 

curtail:^ down. Cl-ARE S. McKinJ-KV^ 



DESCRIPTIVE AND DRAMATIC RECITATIONS. 
THE VULTURE OF THE ALPS. 



183 



This selection is narrative, yet it is narrative intensely dramatic. Imagine the feelings of a parent who 
sees the "youngest of his babes " torn away from his embrace by a vulture and carried away in mid-air. 
Let your tones, attitudes and gestures all be strong. Picture the flight of a mountain eagle with uplifted 
arn?, and depict with an expression of agony the grief of the parent. 



! 



'VE been among the mighty Alps, and wan- 
dered through their vales, 
And heard the honest mountaineers relate 
their dismal tales. 
As round the cottage blazing hearth, when their 

daily work was o'er, 
They spake of those who disappeared, and ne'er 
were heard of more. 

And there I from a shepherd heard a narrative of 

fear, 
A tale to rend a mortal heart, which mothers 

might not hear : 
The tears were standing in his eyes, his voice was 

tremulous. 
But, wiping all those tears away he told his story 

thus: — 

" It is among these barren cliffs the ravenous 

vulture dwells. 
Who never fattens on the prey which from afar 

he smells ; 
But, patient, watching hour on hour upon a lofty 

rock, 
He singles out some truant lamb, a victim, from 

the flock. 

*'One cloudless Sabbath summer morn, the sun 

was rising high, 
When from my children on the green, I heard a 

fearful cry, 
As if some awful deed were done, a shriek of 

grief and pain, 
A cry, I humbly trust in God, I ne'er may hear 

again. 

" I hurried out to learn the cause ; but, over- 
whelmed with fright, 

The children never ceased to shriek, and from 
my frenzied sight 

I missed the youngest of my babes, the darling 
of my care, 

But something caught my searching eyes, slow 
jailing through the air. 



'' Oh ! what an awful spectacle to meet a father's 

eye! , 

His infant made a vulture's prey, with terror to 

descry ! 
And know, with agonizing breast, and with a 

maniac rave. 
That earthly power could not avail, that innocent" 

to save ! 

" My infant stretched his little hands imploringly 

to me. 
And struggled with the ravenous bird, all vainly 

to get free. 
At intervals, I heard his cries, as loud he shrieked 

and screamed : 
Until, upon the azure sky, a lessening spot he 

seemed. 

^'The vulture flapped his sail-like wings, though 
heavily he flew, 

A mote upon the sun's broad face he seemed 
unto my view : 

But once I thought I saw him stoop, as if he 
would alight ; 

'Twas only a delusive thought, for all had van- 
ished quite. 

^'AU search was vain, and years had passed; 

that child was ne'er forgot. 
When once a daring hunter climbed unto a lofty 

spot. 
From whence, upon a rugged crag the chamois 

never reached. 
He saw an infant's fleshless bones the elements 

had bleached ! 

"I clambered up that rugged clifl"; I could not 
stay away ; 

I knew they were my infant's bones thus hasten- 
ing to decay ; 

A tattered garment yet remained, though torn to 
many a shred. 

The crimson cap he wore that mgri] was Still 
upon the head/' 



184 



DESCRIPTIVE AND DP.AMATIC RECITATIONS. 



That dreary spot is pointed out to travelers pass- 
ing by, 

Who often stand, and, musing, gaze, nor go 
without a sigh. 



And as I journeyed, the next morn, along my 

sunny way, 
The precipice was shown to me, whereon the 

infant lay. 



THE OLD=FASHIONED QIRL. 



(b I HERE'S an old-fashioned girl in an old- 
* I fashioned street, 

-^ Dressed in old-fashioned clothes from her 
head to her feet. 
And she spends all her time in the old-fashioned 

way, 
Of caring for poor people's children all day. 

She never has been to cotillion or ball. 

And sb'- '-nows not the styles of the spring or the fall. 



Two hundred a year will suffice for her needs, 
And an old-fashioned Bible is all that she 
reads. 

And she has an old-fashioned heart that is true 
To a fellow who died in an old coat of blue. 
With its buttons all brass — who is waiting above 
For the woman who loved him with old-fashioned 
love. 

Tom Hall. 



NATHAN HALE, THE MARTYR SPY. 

After the disastrous defeat of the Americans on Long Island, Washington desired information respect- 
ing the British position and movements. Captain Nathan Hale, but twenty-one years old, volunteered to 
procure the information. He was taken and hanged as a spy the day after his capture, September 22, 
1776. His patriotic devotion, and the brutal treatment he received at the hands ot his captors, have sug- 
gested the following. Put your whole soul into this piece^ especially Hale's last speech. It rises to the 
sublime. 



rS in the year that gave the nation birth ; 
A time when men esteemed the com- 
mon good 
As greater weal than private gain. A battle 

fierce 
And obstinate had laid a thousand patriots low. 
And filled the people's hearts with gloom. 

Pursued like hunted deer. 
The crippled army fled ; and, yet, amid 
Disaster and defeat, the Nation's chosen chief 
, Resolved his losses to retrieve. But not 
'With armies disciplined and trained by years 
Of martial service, could he, this Fabian chief, 
Now hope to check the hosts of Howe's victor- 
ious legions — 
These had he not. 

In stratagem the shrewder general 
Ofttimes o'ercomes his strong antagonist. 



To Washington a knowledge of the plans, 
Position, strength of England's force, 
Must compensate for lack of numbers. 

He casts about for one who'd take his life 
In hand. Lo ! he stands before the chief. In face, 
A boy — in form, a man on whom the eye could 

rest 
In search of God's perfected handiwork. 
In culture, grace and speech, reflecting all 
A mother's love could lavish on an only son. 

The chieftain's keen discerning eye 
Appraised the youth at his full worth, and saw 
In him those blending qualities that make 
The hero and the sage. He fain would save 
For nobler deeds a man whose presence marked 
A spirit born to lead. 

''Young man," he said with kindly air, 
''Your country and commander feel grateful that 



DESCRIPTIVE AND DRAMATIC RECITATIONS. 



185 



Sucu calents are offered in this darkening hour. 
Have you in reaching this resolve considered well 
Your fitness, courage, strength — the act, the risk. 
You undertake ? ' ' 

The young man said : *' The hour demands a 
^ duty rare — 

Perhaps a sacrifice. If God and training in 
The schools have given me capacities 
This duty to perform, the danger of the enter- 
prise 
Should not deter me from the act 
Whose issue makes our country free. In times 
Like these a Nation's life sometimes upon 
A single life depends. If mine be deemed 
A fitting sacrifice, God grant a quick 
Deliverance *' 

^' Enough, go then, at once," the great 
Commander said. ''May Heaven's guardian 

angels give 
You safe return. Adieu.' 

Disguised with care, the hopeful captain 
crossed 
The bay, and moved through British camp 
Without discovery by troops or refugees. 
The enemy's full strength, in men, in stores, 
Munitions, guns — all military accoutrements 
Were noted with exact precision ; while 
With graphic sketch, each trench and parapet, 
Casemated battery, magazine and every point 
Strategic, was drawn with artist's skill. 

The task complete, the spy with heart 
Elate, now sought an exit through the lines. 
Well might he feel a soldier's pride. An houi 

hence 
A waiting steed would bear him to his friends. 
His plans he'd lay before his honored chief; 
His single hand might turn the tide of war, 
His country yet be free. 

" Halt ! " a British musket leveled at 
His head dimmed all the visions of his soul. 
A dash — an aimless shot ; the spy bore down 
Upon the picket with a blow that else 
Had freed him from his clutch, but for a score 
Of troopers stationed near. In vain the struggle 
fierce 



And desperate — in vain demands to be released. 

A tory relative, for safety quartered in 

The British camp, would prove his truckling 

loyalty 
With kinsman's blood, a word — a look — 
A motion of the head, and he who'd dared 
So much in freedom's name was free no more 

Before Lord Howe the captive youth 

Was led. "Base dog!" the haughty general 
said, 

'* Ignoble son of loyal sires! you've played the 
spy 

Quite well I ween. The cunning skill where- 
with 

You wrought these plans and charts might well 
adorn 

An honest man ; but in a rebel's hands they're 
vile 

And miLchievous. If ought may palliate 

A traitor's act, attempted in his sovereign's 
camp, 

I bid you speak ere I pronounce your sentence." 

With tone and mien that hushed 
The buzzing noise of idle lackeys in the hall. 
The patriot thus replied : ' ' You know my name — 
My rank; — my treach'rous kinsman made 
My purpose plain. I've nothing further of my- 
self 
To tell beyond the charge of traitor to deny. 
The brand of spy I do accept without reproach ; 
But never since I've known the base ingratitude 
Of king to loyal subjects of his realm 
Has British rule been aught to me than barbarous 
Despotism which God and man abhor, and none 
Bui^ dastards fear to overthrow. 
For tyrant loyalty your lordship represents 
I never breathed a loyal breath ; and he 
Who calls me traitor seeks a pretext for a crime 
His trembling soul might well condemn." 

''I'll hear no more such prating cant," 
Said Howe, "your crime's enough to hang a 

dozen men. 
Before to-morrow's sun goes down you'll swing 
'Twixt earth and heaven, that your countryme' 
May know a British camp is dangero^'ts fyt^r/ 
For prowling spi^s. Away I " 



186 



DESCRIPTIVE AND DRAMATIC RECITATIONS. 



Securely bound upon a cart, amid 
A speechless crowd, he stands beneath a strong 
Projecting limb, to which a rope with noose 

attached, 
Portends a tragic scene. He casts his eyes 
Upon the surging multitude. Clearly now 
His tones ring out as victors shout in triumph ; 

" Men, I do not die in vain, 
My humble death upon this tree will light anew 
The Torch of liberty. A hundred hands to one 
Before will strike for country, home and God, 
And fill our ranks with men of faith in His 



Eternal plan to make this people free. 

A million prayers go up this day to free 

The land from blighting curse of tyrant's rule. 

Oppression's wrongs have reached Jehovah's 

throne ; 
The God of vengeance smites the foe ! This 

land, — 
This glorious land, — is free — is free ! 

'' My friends, farewell ! In dying thus 
I feel but one regret ; it is the one poor life 
I have to give in Freedom's cause." 

I. PI. Brown. 






THE FUTURE. 



HEN Earth's last picture is painted, and 
the tubes are twisted and dried, 
When the oldest colors have faded, and 
the youngest critic has died. 
We shall rest, and, faith, we shall need it — lie 

down for an aeon or two, 
Till the Master of all Good Workmen shall set 
us to work anew I 

And those that were good shall be happy ; they 

shall sit in a golden chair; 
They shall splash at a ten-league canvas with 

brushes of comets' hair; 



^ 



.o^o 



They shall find real saints to draw from — Magda- 
lene, Peter and Paul ; 

They shall work for an age at a sitting and never 
be tired at all ! 

And only the Master shall praise us, and only the 

Master shall blame ! 
And no one shall work for money, and no one 

shall work for fame; 
But each for the joy of the working, and each, in 

his separate star. 
Shall draw the Thing as he sees it for the God of 

Things as They Are ! 

RuDYARD Kipling. 



THE 



POWER OF HABIT. 

Adapted to the development of transition in pitch, and a very spirited utterance. When you are able 
to deliver this as Mr. Gough did, you may consider yourself a graduate in the art of elocution. 

"You Vi^ill find it so, sir. 



I REMEMBER once riding from Buffalo 
to the Niagara Falls. I said to a gen- 
tleman, "What river is that, sir?" 
" That," said he, " is Niagara River." 
" Well, it is a beautiful stream," said I ; 
" bright and fair and glassy. How far off are 
the rapids?" 

"Only a mile or two," was the reply. 
" Is it possible that only a mile from us we 
shall find the water in the turbulence which 
it must show near the Falls ? " 



And so I found 
it; and the first sight of Niagara I shall never 
forget. 

Now, launch your bark on that Niagara 
River; it is bright, smooth, beautiful and 
glassy. There is a ripple at the bow ; 
the silver wake you leave behind adds to 
your enjoyment. Down the stream you 
glide, oars, sails, and helm in proper trim, 
and you set out on your pleasure excur- 
sion* 



DESCRIPTIVE AND DRAMATIC RECITATIONS. 



187 



Suddenly some one cries out from the 
bank, " Young men, ahoy !" 

"What is it?" 

*' The rapids are below you ! " 

" Ha ! ha ! we have heard of the rapids ; 
but we are not such fools as to get there. If 
we go too fast, then we shall up with the 
helm, and steer to the shore ; we will set the 
ma?t in the socket, hoist the sail, and speed 
to the land. Then on, boys; don't be 
alarmed, there is no danger." 

" Young men, ahoy there ! " 

" What is it ? " 

" The rapids are below you ! '^ 

"Ha! ha! we will laugh and quaff; all 
things delight us. What care we for the 
future ? No man ever saw it. Sufficient for 
the day is the evil thereof We will enjoy 
life while we may, will catch pleasure as it 
flies. This is enjoyment; time enough to 



steer out of danger when we are sailing 
swiftly with the current." 

" Young men, ahoy !" 

"What is it?" 

" Beware ! beware ! The rapids are below 
you ! " 

" Now you see the water foaming all 
around. See how fast you pass that point ! 
Up with the helm ! Now turn ! Pull hard ! 
Quick ! quick ! quick ! pull for your lives ! 
pull till the blood starts from your nostrils, 
and the veins stand like whip cords upon your 
brow ! Set the mast in the socket ! hoist the 
sail ! Ah ! ah ! it is too late ! Shrieking, 
blaspheming, ovep they go." 

Thousands go over the rapids of intemper- 
ance every year, through the power of habit, 
crying all the while, " When I find out that 
it is injuring me, I will give it up!" 

John B. Gough. 




DIED ON DUTY. 

The following lines were written by a comrade, on the death of Engineer Billy Ruffin, who lost his life 
by an accident that occurred on the Illinois Central Railroad, in Mississippi. 

But the devil's own had been at work, and loos- 
ened a rail that night ; 

When, gods of mercy ! what a shock and crash I 
then all so quiet and still. 

And old 258 lay dead in the pond, and the train 
piled up on the fill. 

The crew showed up one by one, lookmg all 

white and chill, 
Anxious to see if all were on deck, but whar on 

airth wuz Bill? 
But it wasn't long before they knew, for there in 

the pond was the tank, 
Stickin' clus to her engine pard, and holdin* 

Bill down by the shank. 

When the boys saw what orter be done, they 
went to work with a vim, 

But willin' hands doin' all they would, couldn't 
nze tons oft^n him i 



ILL RUFFIN to some wouldn't rank 
very high, being only an engineer; 
But he opened the throttle with a 
steady grip, and didn' t know nothin' like fear ; 
For doin' his duty and doin' it right, he was 

known all along the line, 
And with him in the box of 258, you might figger 
" you'd be thar on time." 

Bill was comin' down the run, one Monday night, 

a pullin' of No. 3, 
Just jogging along at a 30 gait, and a darker 

night you never see. 
They had struck the trestle twenty rod north of 

old Tallahatchie bridge. 
Where the water backs up under the track, with 

here and there a ridge. 

Bill had come down that run a hundred times, 
^nd supposed that 4II wa^ right j 



188 



DESCRIPTIVE AND DRAMATIC RECITATIONS. 



oill stood thar, brave man that he was, as the 

hours went slowly by, 
Seeniin' to feel, if the rest wur scared, he was 

l^erfectly willin' to die. 

Just before daylight looked over the trees, they 

brought poor Bill to the fire. 
And done the best they could for him in a place 

that was all mud and mire ; 
But they done no good, 'twant no use; he had 

seen his last of wrecks ; 
And thar by the fire that lit up his brave face, 

poor Bill passed in his checks. 

When they raised old 258 again, the story she 
did tell 



Was that the hero in her cab had done his duty 

well ; 
They found her lever thrown hard, her throttle 

open wide. 
Her air applied so close and hard that every 

wheel must slide. 



Thar's a wife and two kids down the line, whose 

sole dependence wuz Bill, 
Who little thought when he came home he'd be 

brought cold and still ; 
But tell them, tho' Bill was rough by natur' and 

somewhat so by name, 
That thar's a better land for men like him, and 

he died clear grit just the same. 



MY FRIEND THE CRICKET AND I. 




kY friend the Cricket and I 

Once sat by the fireside talking ; 
''This life," I said, ''is such 
weary work ; ' ' 
Chirped Cricket, " You're always croaking." 
"It's rowing against baith wind an' tide, 

And a' for the smallest earning." 
^Ah! weel," the merry Cricket replied, 
"But the tide will soon be turning." 

*'And then," I answered, " dark clouds may rise, 

And winds with the waters flowing." 
** Weel ! keep a bit sunshine in your heart, 

It's a wonderfu' help in rowin (." 
*' But many a boat goes down at sea : " 

" O ! friend, but you're unco trying, 
Pray how many more come into port. 

With a' their colors flying ? 



" Would ye idly drift with changing tides, 

Till lost in a sea of sorrow ? ' ' 
" Ah ! no, good Cricket, I'll take the oars 

And cheerfully row to-morrow." 
"I would ! I would ! Yes, I would ! " he chirped, 

While I watched the bright fire burning, 
"I would! I would ! Yes, I'd try again, 

For the tide must have a turning." 

So all the night long through the drowsy hours 

I heard, like a cheerful humming — 
" I would ! I would ! Yes, I'd try again, 

Ye never ken what is coming." 
So I tried again : — now the wind sets fair, 

And the tide is shoreward turning. 
And Cricket and I chirp pleasantly 

While the fire is brightly burning. 

LiLLiE E. Barr. 



THE SNOW STORM, 



(sfX FARMER came from ihe village plain, 
f^L But he lost the traveled way ; 

yJls \^ And for hours he trod with might 

and main 
A path for his horse and sleigh ; 

But colder still the cold winds blew. 

And deeper still the deep drifts grew, 



And his mare, a beautiful Morgan brown, 
At last in her struggles, floundered down. 
Where a log in a hollow lay. 

In vain, with a neigh and a frenzied snort, 

She plunged in the drifting snow. 
While her master urged, Ull his breath grew short, 






4 




SOCIETY IS QUICK TO TRACK 
THE MAGIC OF A PLEASING FACE 



DESCRIPTIVE AND DRAMATIC RECITATIONS. 



189 



With a word and a gentle blow. 
But the snow was deep, and the tugs were tight ; 
His hands were numb and had lost their might ; 
So he wallowed back to his half-filled sleigh, 
And strove to shelter himself till day, 

With his coat and the buffalo. 

Me has given flie last faint jerk of the rein, 

To rouse up his dying steed ; 
And the poor dog howls to the blast in vain 

For help in his master's need. 
For a while he strives with a wistful cry 
To catch a glance from his drowsy eye, 
And wags his tail if the rude winds flap 
The skirt of the buffalo over his lap, 

And whines when he takes no heed. 

The wind goes down and the storm is o'er, 
'Tis the hour of midnight, past ; 



The old trees writhe and bend no more 

In the whirl of the rushing blast. 
The silent moon with her peaceful light 
Looks down on the hills with snow all white, 
And the giant shadow of Camel's Hump, 
The blasted pine and the ghostly stamp 

Afar on the plain are cast. 

But cold and dead by the hidden log 
Are they who came from the town : 
The man in his sleigh, and his faithful dog, 

And his beautiful Morgan brown — ■ 
In the wide snow-desert, far and grand, 
With his cap on his head and the reins in his 

hand — • 
The dog with his nose on his master's feet, 
And the mare half seen through the crusted sleet 
Where she lay when she floundered down» 



PARRHASIUS AND THE CAPTIVE. 

This is a picture of inordinate ambition. It should be represented by a voice of cold indifference to 
iiuman suffering. The flame of selfish passion is wild and frenzied. 

Quick — or he faints !— stand with the cordial 
near ! 
Now — bend him to the rack ! 
Press down the poisoned links into his flesh \ 
And tear agape that healing wound afresh ! 




ARRHASIUS stood, gazing forgetfully 
Upon his canvas. There Prometheus lay, 
19 Chained to the cold rocks of Mount 
. Caucasus — 
The vulture at his vitals, and the links 
Of the lame Lemnian festering in his flesh; 
And as the painter's mind felt through the dim, 
Rapt mystery, and pluck' d the shadows forth 
With its far-reaching fancy, and with form 
And color clad them, his fine, earnest eye 
Flashed with a passionate fire, and the quick curl 
Of his thin nostril, and his quivering lip. 
Were like the winged god's, breathing from his 
flight. 

" Bring me the captive now ! 
My hand feels skillful, and the shadows lift 
From my waked spirit airily and swift. 

And I could paint the bow 
Upon the bended heavens — around me play 
Colors of such divinity to-day. 

" Ha ! bind him on his back ! 
Look ! — as Prometheus in my picture here 1 



" So — let him writhe ! How long 
Will he live thus? Quick, my good pencil, now! 
What a fine agony works upon his brow ! 

Ha ! gray-haired, and so strong ! 
How fearfully he stifles that short moan ! 
Gods ! if I could but paint a dying groan ! 

^'^Pity' thee! So I do ! 
I pity the dumb victim at the altar — 
But does the robed priest for \i\'s> pity falter? 

I'd rack thee, though I knew 
A thousand lives were perishing in thine — 
What were ten thousand to a fame like mine? 

" ^Hereafter ! ' Ay — hereafter ! 
A whip to keep a coward to his track ! 
What gave Death ever from his kingdom back 

To check the skeptic's laughter? 



190 



DESCRIPTIVE AND DRAMATIC RECITATIONS. 



Come from the grave to-morrow with that story 
And I may take some softer path to glory. 

'^ No, no, old man ! we die 
Even as the flowers, and we shall breathe away 
Our life upon the chance wind, even as they ! 

Strain well thy fainting eye — 
lor ^vhen that bloodshot quivering is o'er, 
The light of heaven will never reach thee more. 

" Yet there's a deathless name ! 
A spirit that the smothering vault shall spurn. 
And like a steadfast planet mount and burn — 

And though its crown of flame 
Ccmsumed my brain to ashes as it shone, 
By all the fiery stars ! I'd bind it on ! 

''Ay — though it bid me rifle 
My heart's last fount for its insatiate thirst — 
Though every life-strung nerve be maddened 
first— 

Though it should bid me stifle 
The yearning in my throat for my sweet child. 
And taunt its mother till my brain went wild— - 

''All— I would do it ail- 
Sooner than die, lie a dull worm, to rot — 
Thrust foully into earth to be forgot ! 

O heavens ! — but I appall 



Your heart, old man ! forgive ha ! on your lives 

Let him not faint ! — rack him till he revives ! 

"Vain — vain — give o'er ! His eye 
Glazes apace. He does not feel you now — 
Stand back ! I'll paint the death dew on his brow 1 

Gods! if he do not die 
But for one moment — one — till I eclipse 
Conception with the scorn of those cold lips ' 



" Shivering ! Hark ! he mutters 
Brokenly now — that was a difficult breath — 
Another ? Wilt thou never come, O Death ! 

Look \ how his temple flutters ! 
Is his heart still ? Aha! lift up his head ! 
He shudders — gasps — Jove help hun ! — so — he's 
dead." 

How like a mounting devil in the heart 
Rules the unreined ambition I Let it once 
But play the monarch, and its haughty brow 
Glows with a beauty that bewilders thought 
And unthrones peace forever. Putting -on 
The very pomp of Lucifer, it turns 
The heart to ashes, and with not a spring 
Left in the bosom for the spirit's lip. 
We look upon our splendor and forget 
The thirst of which we perish ! 

N. P. Willis. 



Hi 



THE NINETY=THIRD OFF CAPE VERD. 

The figures refer you to the Typical Gestures at the beginning of Part II. of this volume, 
gestures of your own. A good recital for animated description. 



Use othei 



% 



I 



r is night upon the ocean 
Near old Afric's shore ; 
Loud the wind wails o'er the water, 
Loud the waters roar. 



Dark o'erhead^^ the storm-clouds gather. 
Huge waves mountains form, 

As a stout ^ old ship comes struggling 
On against the storm. 

Hark ! ^ e'en now across the billows 

On the wind there floats. 
Sharp and shrill, the boatswain's whistle 

Sounding, ^ " Man the boats ! " 



At the sound, from cabin doorways. 

Rushing out headlong. 
Pours a weeping, ^° shrieking, shuddering, 
* Terror-stricken throng. 

Men, and women with their children. 

Weak and pale from fright, 
Praying, '^^ cursing, hurry onward 

Out iUto the night. 

But the lightning's^' frequent flashes 

By their ghastly sheen, 
Further forward in the vessel. 

Show another scene. 



DESCRIPTIVE AND DRAMATIC RECITATIONS. 



19^ 



From the crowd of trembling women, 

And of trembling men, 
See ! ^ a soldier presses forward, 

Takes his place, and then — 

''Fall in ! " ^ Then comes the roll-call. 
Every man is at his post, 
Although now they hear the breakers 
Roaring on the coast. 

^* Present arms ! " ° And till the life-boats 
With their precious freight 



Have been lowered safely downward 
Thus they stand and wait. 

And then, as the staunch old vessel 

Slowly sinks at last, 
Louder than the ocean's roaring, 

Louder than the blast. 

O'er the wildly raging water, 

Echoing far and near, 
Hear" the soldiers' dying volley, 

Hear their dying cheer. 



A FELON'S CELL. 



with 



An intensely dramatic reading, requiring 

I'M going to a felon's cell. 
To stay there till I die ; 
They say my hands are stained 
blood, 
But they who say it — lie. 
The court declared I murdered one 

I would have died to save ; 
I know who did the awful deed, 
I saw, but could not save. 

I saw the knife gleam in his hand, 

I heard the victim's shriek; 
My feet seem chained, I tried to run. 

But terror made me weak. 
Reeling, at length I reached the spot 

Too late — a quivering sigh — 
The pale moon only watched with me 

To see a sweet girl die. 

The reeking blade lay at my feet. 

The murderer had fled; 
1 stooped to raise the prostrate form, 

To lift the sunny head 
Of her I loved, from out the pool 

Her own sweet blood had made ; 
That knife was fairly in my way, 

I raised the murderous blade. 

Unmindful of all else, beside 

That lovely, bleeding corse. 
Unheeding the approaching steps 

Of traveler and horse, 



rapid changes of voice and gesture. 
I raised the knife ; it caught the gleam 

Of the full moon's bright glare. 
One instant, and the next strong arms 

Pinioned mine firmly there. 

They led me forth, mute with a woe 

Too deep for word or sign ; 
The knife within my hand the court 

Identified as mine. 
My name was graven on the hilt, — 

The letters told a lie ; 
They doomed me to a felon's cell 

To stay there till I die. 

And yet, I did not do the deed ; 

The moon, if she could speak, 
Would lift this anguish from my brow, 

This shame from off my cheek. 
I was not born with gold or lands 

Nor was I born a slave. 
My hands are free from blood, — and ye* 

I'll fill a felon's grave. 

And I, who last year played at ball 

Upon the village green, 
A stripling, on whose lips the sign 

Of manhood scarce is seen, 
Whose greatest crime (if crime it be) 

Was loving her too well, 



Must leave this beautiful, 
For a dark prison cell- 



r]ad world 



192 



DESCRIPTIVE AND DRAMATIC RECITATIONS. 



I had just begun to learn to live 

Since I laid by my books, 
And I had grown so strangely fond 

Of forest, spring, and brook, 
I read a lesson in each drop 

That trickled through the grass, 
And found a sermon in the flow 

Of wavelets, as they pass. 

Dear woodland haunts ! I leave your shade; 

No more at noon's high hour 
I'll list the sound of insect life, 

Or scent the sweet wild flower. 
Dear mossy banks, by murmuring streams, 

'Tis hard to say good-bye ! 
To leave you for a felon's cell, 

Where I must stay and die. 

Farewell all joy and happiness ! 

Farewell all earthly bliss ! 
All human ties must severed be,— - 

Aye, even a mother's kiss 
Must fail me now; in this my need 

O God ! to Thee I cry ! 
Oh ! take me now, ere yet I find 

A grave wherein to lie. 

Mother, you here ! Mother, the boy 

You call your poet child 
Is innocent ! His hands are clean, 

His heart is undefiled. 
Oh ! tell me, mother, am I weak 

To shrink at thought of pain ? 
To shudder at the sound of bolt, 

Gt-ow cold at clank of chain ? 



\ Oh ! tell me, is it weakness now 
To weep upon your breast, — • 
That faithful pillow, where so oft 
You've soothed me to my rest ! 

Hark ! 'tis an officer's firm tread, 

God ! Mother, good-bye ! 
They've come to bear me to my cell 

Where I must stay and die. 
They're coming now, I will be strong. 

No, no. it cannot be. 
My giddy brain whirls round in pain, 

Your face I cannot see. 
But I remember when a child 

1 shrank at thought of pain. 
But, oh, it is a fearful thing 

To have this aching brain. 

Pardon ! heard I the sound aright ? 

Mine comes from yonder sky; 
Hold me ! don't let them take me forth 

To suffer till I die ! 
Pardon ! pardon ! came the sound, 

And horsemen galloped fast, 
But 'twas too late ; the dying man 

Was soon to breathe his last. 
The crime's confessed, the guilt made known 

Quick, lead the guiltless forth. 
■'Then I am free ! mother, your hand, 

Now whisper your good-bye, 
I'm going where there are no cells 

To suffer in and die ! " 



n 



THE BATTLE OF W^ATERLOO. 

This soul-stirring account of the historic battle where thrones and empires were staked, is from 
the pen of the great French author whose famous descriptions are unsurpassed by those of any otliei 
writer. In reciting this piece every nerve must be tense, and soul and body must be animated by the 
imaginary sight of the contending armies. Your utterance should be somewhat rapid, the tones of your 
voice round and full, the words of command given as a general would give them on the field of battle, 
and you must picture to your hearers the thrilling scene in such a way that it may appear to be almost 
a reality. Otherwise, this very graphic description will fall flat, and the verdict of your audience will be 
that you were not equal to the occasion. 



w I HE sky had been overcast all day. All 

^1 at once, at this very moment — it was 

eight o'clock at night — the clouds in 



the horizon broke, and through the elms of 
the Nivelles road streamed fh^ sinister red 
light of the setting sun. 



DESCRIPTIVE AND DRAMATIC RECITATIONS. 



195 



Arrangements were speedily made for the 
filial effort. Each battalion was commanded 
by a general. When the tall caps of the 
Grenadiers of the Guard with their large 
eagle plates appeared, symmetrical, drawn 
up in line, calm in the smoke of that conflict, 
t\e enemy felt respect for France. They 
thought they saw twenty victories entering 
upon the field of battle with wings extended 
and those who were conquerors thinking 
tliemselves conquered recoiled ; but Welling- 
ton cried : " Up, Guards, and at them ! " 

The red regiment of English Guards, lying 
behind the hedges, rose up ; a shower of 
grape riddled the tricolored flag. All hurled 
themselves forward, and the final carnage 
began. The Imperial Guard felt the army 
slipping away around them in the gloom 
and the vast overthrow of the rout. There 
were no weak souls or cowards there. The 
privates of that band were as heroic as their 
'eneral. Not a man flinched from the suicide. 

The army fell back rapidly from all sides 
at once. A disbanding army is a thaw. The 
whole bends, cracks, snaps, floats, rolls, falls^ 
crashes, hurries, plunges. Ney borrows a 
horse, leaps upon him, and, without hat, 
cravat, or sword, plants himself in the Brussels 
'oad, arresting at once the English and the 
French. He endeavors to hold the army ; 
he calls them back, he reproaches them, he 
grapples with the rout. He is swept away. 
The soldiers flee from him, crying, " Long 
live Ney ! " Durutte's two regiments come 
and go, frightened and tossed between the 
sabres of the Uhlans and the fire of the brig- 
ades of Kempt. Rout is the worst of all 
conflicts; friends slay each other in their 
flight; squadrons and battalions are crushed 
and dispersed against each other, enormous 
foam of the battle. 

Napoleon gallops among the fugitives, 
harangues them, urges, threatens, entreats. 
The momh«^. which in the morning were cry- 
(13-X) 



ing " Long live the Emperor," are now 
agape. He is hardly recognized. The Prus- 
sian cavalry, just come up, spring forward, 
fling themselves upon the enemy, sabre, cut, 
hack, kill, exterminate. Teams rush off; the 
guns are left to the care of themselves ; the 
soldiers of the train unhitch the caissons and 
take the horses to escape ; wagons upset, 
with their four wheels in the air, block up 
the road, and are accessories of massacre. 

They crush and they crowd ; they tram- 
ple upon the living and the dead. Arms are 
broken. A multitude fills roads, paths 
bridges, plains, hills, valleys, woods, choked 
up by this flight of forty thousand men. Cries^ 
despair; knapsacks and muskets cast into 
the rye ; passages forced at the point of 
the sword; no more comrades, no more 
officers, no more generals ; an inexpressible 
dismay. Lions become kids. Such was this 
flight. 

A few squares of the Guard, immovable in 
the flow of the rout as rocks in running 
water, held out until night. Night approach- 
ing and death also, they awaited this double 
shadow, and yielded unfaltering to its em- 
brace. At every discharge the square grew 
less, but returned the fire. It replied to 
grape by bullets, narrowing in its four walls 
continually. Afar off, the fugitives, stopping 
for a moment out of breath, heard in the 
darkness this dismal thunder decreasing. 

When this legion was reduced to a hand- 
ful, when their flag was reduced to a shred, 
when their muskets, exhausted of ammuni- 
tion, were reduced to nothing but clubs, when 
the pile of corpses was larger than the group 
of the living, there spread among the con- 
querors a sort of sacred terror about these 
sublime martyrs, and the English artillery, 
stopping to take breath, was silent. It was 
a kind of respite. These combatants had 
about them a swarm of spectres, the outlines 
of men on horseback, the black profile of the 



194 



DESCRIPTIVE AND DRAMATIC RECITATIONS. 



d 



cannons, the white sky seen through the 
wheels and gun-carriages. The colossal 
death's head, v/hich heroes always see in the 
smoke of the battle, was advancing upon 
them and glaring at them. 

They could hear in the gloom of the 
t vilight the loading of the pieces. The 
lighted matches, like tigers' eyes in the 
night, made a circle about their heads. All 
the linstocks of the English batteries ap- 
proached the guns, when, touched by their 
heroism, holding the death-moment sus- 
pended over these men, an English general 
cried to them : 

" Brave Frenchmen, surrender ! " 



The word " Never ! " fierce and desperate 
came rolling back. 

To this word the English general replied, 
" Fire ! " 

The batteries flamed, the hill trembled; 
from all those brazen throats went forth a 
final vomiting of grape, terrific, A vast 
smoke, dusky Vv^hite in the light of the rising 
moon, rolled out, and when the smoke was 
dissipated, there was nothing left. That for- 
midable remnant was annihilated — the Guard 
was dead ! The four walls of the living re- 
doubt had fallen. Hardly could a quivering 
be distinguished here and there among the 
corpses ; and thus the French legions expired. 

Victor Hugo. 



A PIN. 




H, I know a certain woman who is reck- 
oned with the good, 
But she fills me with more terror than a 
raging lion could. 
The little chills run up and down my ^^pine 

whene'er we meet, 
Though she seems a gentle creature, and she's 
very trim and neat. 

And she has a thousand virtues, and not one 

acknowledged sin. 
But she is the sort of person you could liken to a 

pin. 
And she pricks you, and she sticks you in a way 

that can't be said — 
When you ask for what has hurt you, why you 

cannot find the head. 

But she fills you with discomfort and exasperating 

pain — 
If anyl)ody asks you why, you really can't explain. 
A pin is such a tiny thing — of that there is no 

doubt — 
Yet when it's sticking in your flesh, youVe 

wretched till it's out. 

She is wonderfully observing — when she meets a 
pretty girl 



She is always sure to tell her if her **bang" is 

out of curl. 
And she is so sympathetic to her friend, who's 

much admired, 
She is often heard remarkmg: " Dear, you look 

so worn and tired ! " 

And she is a careful critic; for on yesterday she 
eyed 

The nev/ dress I was airing with a woman's nat- 
ural pride, 

And she said : *' Oh, how becoming ! " and then 
softly added to it, 

^' It is really a misfortune that the basque is such 
a fit." 

Then she said : ''If you had heard me yestereve, 
I'm sure, my friend, 

You would say I am a champion who knows how 
to defend." 

And she left me with the feeling — most unpleas- 
ant, I aver — 

That the whole world would despise me if it hnd 
not been for her. 

Whenever I encounter her, in such a nameless way, 
She gives me the imj)ression I am at my worst 
that day. 



l)p:j)CRIptive and dramatic recitations. 



195 



-\nd the hat that was imported (and that cost me 

half a sonnet), 
With just one glance from her round eye, becomes 

a Bowery bonnet. 

Siie is always bright and smiling, sharp and shin- 



ing for a thrust- 



Use does not seem to blunt her point, nor does 

she gather rust — 
Oh ! I wish some hapless specimen of mankind 

would begin 
To tidy up the world for me, by picking up this 

P^^- Ella Wheeler Wilcox. 



A RELENTING MOB, 

Translated from the French of Victor Hugo. 




HE mob was fierce and furious. They cried : 
Kill him ! ' ' the while they pressed from 
every side 

Around a man, haughty, unmoved and brave, 
Too pitiless himself to pity crave. 

• Down with the wretch ! " on all sides rose the 

cry. 
The captive found it natural to die. 
The game is lost — he's on the weaker side, 
Life, too, is lost, and so must fate decide. 

From out his home they dragged him tn the 

street, 
With fiercely clenching hands and hurrying feet, 
And shouts of •' Death to him ! " The crimson 

stain 
Of recent carnage on his garb showed plain. 

This m.an was one of those who blindly slay 
At a king's bidding. He'd shoot men all day, 
Killing he knew not whom, scarce knew why. 
Now marching forth impassible to die, 
Incapable of mercy or of fear. 
Letting his powder-blackened hands appear. 

A woman chitched his collar with a frown, 
' He's a policeman — he has shot us down ! " 
'Tiiat's true," the man said. ''Kill him!" 

''Shoot him!" "Kill!" 
' No, at the Arsenal " — " The Bastile ! " — 

" Where you wil"," 
The captive answered. And with fiercest breath, 
Loading their guns his captors still cried 

"Death!" 
We'll shoot him like a wolf!" "A wolf am I? 
Then you're the dogs," he calmlv made reply. 



" Hark, he insults us ! " And from every side 
Clenched fists were shaken, angry voices cried, 
Ferocious threats were muttered, deep and low. 
With gall upon his lips, gloom on his brow, 
And in his eyes a gleam of baffled hate, 
He went, pursued by bowlings, to his fate. 
Treading with wearied and supreme disdain 
'Midst the forms of dead men he perchance 

had slain. 
Dread is that human storm, an angry crowd : 
He braved its wrath with head erect and 

proud. 
He was not taken, but walled in with foes. 
He hated them with hate the vanquished knows, 
He would have shot them all had he the power. 

" Kill him — he's fired upon us for an hour ! " 
"Down with the murderer — down with the 
spy!" 

And suddenly a small voice made reply, 
"No — no, he is my father! " And a ray 

Like a sunbeam seemed to light the day. 

A child appeared, a boy with golden hair, 

His arms upraised in menace or in prayer. 

All shouted, ' ' Shoot the bandit, fell the spy ! " 
The little fellow clasped him with a cry 
Of "Papa, papa, they'll not hurt you now! " 
The light baptismal shone upon his brow. 

From out the captive's home had come the 

child. 
Meanwhile the shrieks of "Kill him — Death ! " 

rose wild. 
The cannon to the tocsin's voice replied. 
Sinister men thronged close on every side, 




196 



DESCRIPTIVE AND DRAMATIC RECITATIONS. 



And in the street ferocious shouts increased 
Of "Slay each spy — each minister — each 

priest — 
We'll kill them all ! " The little boy replied : 
**I tell you this is papa." One girl cried 
' * A pretty fellow — see his curly head ! ' ' 
'■ " How old are you, my boy ? ' ' another said. 
'*Do not kill papa ! " only he replies. 

A soulful lustre lights his streaming eyes, 
Some glances from his gaze are turned away, 
And the rude hands less fiercely grasp their 

prey. 
Then one of the most pitiless says, "Go — 
Get you back home, boy." ' ' Where — why ? ' ' 

"Don't you know? 
Go to your mother." Then the father said, 
"He has no mother." "What — his mother's 

dead? 
Then you are all he has." "That matters not," 
The captive answers, losing not a jot 
Of his composure as he closely pressed 
The little hands to warm them in his breast. 
And says, " Our neighbor, Catherine you know, 
Go to her." "You'll come too?" "Not 

yet." "No, no. 



Then I'll not leave you." " Why ? " " Thest 

men, I fear, 
Will hurt you, papa, when I am not here." 

The father to the chieftain of the band 

Says softly, "Loose your grasp and take my 

hand, 
I'll tell the child to-morrow we shall meet, 
Then you can shoot me in the nearest street, 
Or farther off, just as you like." "'Tis well ! " 
The words from those rough lips reluctant fell. 
And, half unclasped, the hands less fierce appear. 
The father says, " You see, we're all friends here, 
I'm going with these gentlemen to walk; 
Go home. Be good. I have no time to talk.'' 
The little fellow, reassured and gay. 
Kisses his father and then runs away. 

"Now he is gone and we are at our ease. 
And you can kill me where and how you 

please," 
The father says, " Where is it I must go ? " 
Then through the crowd a long thrill seems to 

flow. 
The lips, so late with cruel wrath afoam, 
Relentingly and roughly cry, " Go home ! " 
Lucy H. Hooper. 



THE BLACK HORSE AND HIS RIDER. 

Slow utterance, rapid utterance, loud tones, subdued tones, quick changes and intense dramatic force 
are all required in this reading. Lose yourself in your recitation. Never be self-conscious. 



IT wa.s the 7th of October, 1777. Hora- 
tio Gates stood before his tent gazing 
steadfastly upon the two armies now 
arrayed in order of battle. It was a clear, 
bracing day, mellow with the richness of 
Autumn. The sky was cloudless ; the foliage 
Oi^ the wood scarce tinged with purple and 
gold ; the buckwheat in yonder fields frost- 
ened into snowy ripeness. But the tread of 
legions shook the ground ; from every bush 
shot the glimmer of the rifle barrel ; on 
every hillside blazed the sharpened bayonet. 
Gates was sad and thoughtful, as he watched 
the evolutions of the two armies. 



But all at once, a smoke arose, a thunder 
shook the ground, and a chorus of shouts 
and groans yelled along the darkened air. 
The play of death had begun. The two 
flags, this of the stars, that of the red cross, 
tossed amid the smoke of battle, while th : 
sky was clouded with leaden folds, and th • 
earth throbbed with the pulsations of a 
mighty heart. Suddenly, Gates and his of- 
ficers were startled. Along the heighf on 
which they stood, came a rider, upon a bl-icl^ 
horse, rushing toward the distant battle. 

There was something in the appearance of 
this horse and his rider, that struck tliem 



DESCRIPTIVE AND DRAMATIC RECITATIONS. 



197 



with surprise. Look ! he draws his sword, 
the sharp blade quivers through the air — he 
points to the distant battle, and lo ! he is 
gone ; gone through those clouds, while his 
shout echoes over the plains. Wherever the 
fight is the thickest, there through intervals 
of cannon smoke, you may see riding madly 
forward that strange soldier, mounted on his 
steed black as death. Look at him, as with 
face red with British blood he waves his 
sword and shouts to his legions. Now you 
may see him fighting in that cannon's glare, 
and the next moment he is away off yonder, 
leading the forlorn hope up that steep cliff. 

Is it not a magnificent sight, to see that 
strange soldier and that noble black horse 
dashing like a meteor, down the long col- 
umns of battle ? Let us look for a moment 
into those dense war-clouds. Over this thick 
hedge bursts a band of American militia-men, 
their rude farmer coats stained with blood, 
while scattering their arms by the way, they 
flee before that company of redcoat hirelings, 
who come rushing forward, their solid front 
of bayonets gleaming in the battle light. 

In this moment of their flight, a horse 
comes crashing over the plains. The un- 
known rider reins his steed back on his 
haunches, right in the path of a broad- 
shouldered militia-man. " Now, cowards ! 
advance another step and I'll strike you to 
the heart ! " shouts the unknown, extending 
a pistol in either hand. " What ! are you 
Americans, men, and fly before British sol- 
diers? Back again, and face them once 
more, or I myself will ride you down." 

This appeal was not without its effect. 
The militia-man turns; his comrades, as if 
by one impulse, follow his example. In one 
line, but thirty men in all, they confront 
thirty sharp bayonets. The British advance. 
" Now upon the rebels, charge ! " shouts the 
red-coat officer. They spring forward at the 
sanie bouad. i,ook 1 their bayonets almost 



touch the muzzles of their rifles. At this 
moment the voice of the unknown rider was 
heard : " Now let them have it ! Fire ! " A 
sound is heard, a smoke is seen, twenty 
Britons are down, some writhing in death 
some crawling along the soil, and some 
speechless as stone. The remaining ten start 
back. " Club your rifles and charge them 
home ! " shouts the unknown. 

That black horse springs forward, followed 
by the militia-rrten. Then a confused con- 
flict — a cry for quarter, and a vision of twenty 
farmers grouped around the rider of the 
black horse, greeting him with cheers. Thus 
it was all the day long. Wherever that black 
horse and his rider went, there followed 
victory. At last, toward the setting of the 
sun, the crisis of the conflict came. That 
fortress yonder, on Bemiss' Heights, must be 
won, or the American cause is lost ! That 
cliff is too steep— that death is too certain. 
The officers cannot persuade the men to ad- 
vance. The Americans have lost the fi^eld. 
Even Morgan, that iron man among iron 
men, leans on his rifle and despairs of the 
field. 

But look yonder ! In this moment when 
all is dismay and horror, here crashing on, 
comes the black horse and his rider. That 
rider bends upon his steed, his frenzied face 
covered with sweat and dust and blood ; he 
lays his hand upon that brave rifleman's 
shoulder, and as though living fire had been 
poured into his veins, he seized his rifle and 
started toward the rock. And now look ! 
now hold your breath, as that black steed 
crashes up that steep cliff. That steed quiv- 
ers ! he totters ! he falls ! No ! No ! Still 
on, still up the cliff, still on toward the for- 
tress. 

The rider turns his face and shouts, *' Come 
on, men of Quebec ! come on ! " That call 
is needless. Already the bold riflemen are 
on the rock. Now British cannon pour 



198 



DESCRIPTIVE AND DRAMATIC RECITATIONS. 



your fires, and lay your dead in tens and 
twenties on the rock. Now, red-coat hire- 
lings, shout your battle-cry if you can ! For 
look ! there, in the gate of the fortress, as 
the smoke clears away, stands the Black 
Horse and his rider. That steed falls dead, 
pierced by an hundred balls ; but his rider, 
as the British cry for quarter, lifts up his 
voice and shouts afar to Horatio Gates wait- 
ing yonder in his tent, '^ Saratoga is won ! " 



As that cry goes up to heaven, he falls 
with his leg shattered by a cannon ball 
Who was the rider of the black horse ? Do 
you not guess his name ? Then bend down 
and gaze on that shattered limb, and you will 
see that it bears the marks of a former wound. 
That wound was received in the storming ol 
Quebec. That rider of the Black Horse 
was Benedict Arnold. 

Charles Sheppard. 



THE UNFINISHED LETTER. 



Near Deadwood. 



Dear Jenny — 




E reached here this morning, 

Tom Baker, Ned Leonard and I, 
So you see that, in spite of your 
warning, 
The end of our journey is nigh. 

*' The redskins — 'tis scarce worth a mention, 

Don't worry about me, I pray — 
Have shown us no little attention — ■ 

Confound them ? — along on our way. 

"Poor Ned's got a ball in the shoulder — ■ 
Another one just grazed my side — 

But pshaw ! ere we're half a day older 
We'll be at the end of our ride. 

** We've camped here for breakfast. Tom's 
splitting 
Some kindhng wood, off of the pines. 



And astride a dead cedar I'm sitting 
To hastily pen you these lines. 

''A courier from Deadwood — we met him 
Just now with a mail for the States, 

(Ah, Jenny ! I'll never forget him} — > 
For this most obligingly waits. 

'^ He says, too, the miners are earning 
Ten dollars a day, every man. 

Halloa ! here comes Tom — he's returning, 
And running as fast as he can. 

*' It's nothing, I guess ; he is only 
At one of his practical — ' ' Bang ! 

And sharp through that solitude lonely 
The crack of Sioux rifle shots rang. 

And as the dire volley came blended 
With echo from canyon and pass, 

The letter to Jenny was ended — 
Its writer lay dead on the grass. 



^ 



LEGEND OF THE ORQAN=BUILDER. 



M 



AY by day the Organ-builder in his 
lonely chamber wrought ; 
Day by day the soft air trembled to 
the music of his thought ; 

Till at last the work was ended; and no organ- 
voice so grand 

Ever yet had soared responsive to the master's 
magic hand. 



Ay, so rarely was it builded that whenever groom 

and bride. 
Who, in God's sight were well- pleasing, in the 

church stood side by side. 

Without touch or breath the orgr. i of itself began 

to play, 
And the very airs of heaven through ihe soil 

^loom seemed to stray 



DESCRIPTIVE AND DRAMATIC RECITATIONS. 



19J? 



He was young, the Organ-builder, and o'er all 

the land his fame 
Ran with fleet and eager footsteps, like a swiftly 

rushing flame. 

All the maidens heard the story ; all the maidens 

blushed and smiled, 
By his youth and wondrous beauty and his great 

renown beguiled. 

So he sought and won the fairest, and the wed- 
ding-day was set : 

Happy day — the brightest jewel in the glad year's 
coronet ! 

But when they the portal entered, he forgot his 

lovely bride ~ 
Forgot his love, forgot his God, and his heart 

swelled high with pride. 

'* Ah ! " thought he ; '' how great a master am I ! 

When the organ plays, 
How the vast cathedral-arches will re-echo with 

my praise ! ' ' 

Up the aisle the gay procession moved. The 

altar shone afar, 
With €very candle gleaming through soft shadows 

like a star. 

But he hstened, listened, listened, with no thought 

of love or prayer. 
For the swelling notes of triumph from his organ 

standing there. 

All was silent. Nothing heard he save the priest's 

low monotone. 
And the bride's robe trailing softly o'er the floor 

of fretted stone. 

Then his lips grew white with anger. Surely God 
was pleased with him 

Who had built the wondrous organ for His tem- 
ple vast and dim ! 

Whose the fault, then ? Hers — the maiden stand- 
ing meekly at his side ! 

Flamed his jealous rage, maintaining she was 
false to him — his bride, 



Vain were all her protestations, vain her inno- 
cence and truth ; 

On that very night he left her to her anguish 
and her ruth. 

For he wandered to a country wherein no man 

knew his name ; 
For ten weary years he dwelt there, nursing still 

his wrath and shame. 

Then his haughty heart grew softer, and he 

thought by night and day 
Of the bride he had deserted, till ne hardly 

dared to pray ; 

Thought of her, a spotless maiden, fair and beau- 
tiful and good ; 

Thought of his relentless anger, that had cursed 
her womanhood ; 

Till his yearning grief and penitence at last weT 

all complete. 
And he longed, with bitter longing, just to fall 

down at her feet. 

Ah ! how throbbed his heart when, after many a 
weary day and night. 

Rose his native towers before him, with the sun- 
set glow alight ! 

Through the gates into the city on he pressed 
with eager tread ; 

There he met a long procession— mourners fol- 
lowing the dead. 

" Now why weep ye so, good people ? and whom 

bury ye to-day ? 
Why do yonder sorrowing maidens scatter flowers 

along the way ? 

*' Has some saint gone up to heaven ? " *' Yes,'* 
they answered, weeping sore ; 

'* For the Organ-builder's saintly wife our eyes 
shall see no more ; 

''And because her days were given to the ser- 
vice of God's poor, 

From His church we mean to bury her. See ! 
yonder is the door." 



200 



DESCRIPTIVE AND DRAMATIC RECITATIONS. 



No one knew him ; no one wondered when he 1 All the vaulted arches rang with the music sweet 



cried out, white with pain ; 
fo one questioned when, with pallid lips, he 
poured his tears like rain. 

*' 'Tis some one whom she has comforted, who 
' mourns with us," they said, 

As he made his wa) unchallenged, and bore the 
coffin's head : 

Bore it through the open portal, bore it up the 

echoing aisle. 
Let it down before the altar, where the lights 

burned clear the while ; 

When, oh, hark ! the wondrous organ of itself 

began to play- 
Strains of rare, unearthly sweetness never heard 

until that day ! 



and clear ! 
All the air was filled with glory, as of angels ho- 
vering near ; 

And ere yet the strain was ended, he who bore 
the coffin's head, 

With the smile of one forgiven, gently sank be- 
side it — dead. 

They who raised the body knew him, and they 

laid him by his bride ; 
Down the aisle and o'er the threshold they were 

carried, side by side ; 

While the organ played a dirge that no man ever 

heard before, 
And .'hen softly sank to silence— silence kept for 

evermore. Julia C. R. Dorr. 



®-< 



■^=^ 



■o^o-» 



A=2. 



>^ 



CAUGHT IN THE QUICKSAND. 



3^T sometimes happens that a man, traveler 
I or fisherman, vi^alking on the beach at 
JL low tide, far from the bank, suddenly 
notices that for several minutes he has been 
walking with some difficulty. The strand 
beneath his feet is like pitch ; his soles stick 
in it; it is sand no longer; it is glue. 

The beach is perfectly dry, but at every 
step he takes, as soon as he lift his foot, the 
print which it leaves fills with water. The 
eye, however, has noticed no change; the 
Immense strand is smooth and tranquil ; all 
iie sand has the same appearance; nothing 
distinguishes the surface which is solid from 
hat which is no longer so ; the joyous little 
crowd of sandflies continue to leap tumult- 
uously over the wayfarer's feet. The man 
pursues his way, goes forward, inclines to the 
land, endeavors to get nearer the upland. 

He is not anxious. Anxious about what? 
Only he feels, somehow, as if the weight of 
his feet increases with every step he takes. 
Suddenly he sinks in, 



He sinks in two or three inches. Decid- 
edly he is not on the right road; he stops to 
take his bearings ; now he looks at his feet. 
They have disappeared. The sand covers 
them. He draws them out of the sand ; he 
will retrace his steps. He turns back, he 
sinks in deeper. The sand comes up to his 
ankles; he pulls himself out and throws him- 
self to the left ; the sand half leg deep. He 
throws himself to the right; the sand comes 
up to his shins. 

Then he recognizes with unspeakable ter- 
ror that he is caught in the quicksand, and 
that he has beneath him the terrible medium 
in which man can no more walk than the fish 
can swim. He throws off his load, if he has 
one, lightens himself as a ship in distress; it 
is already too late; the sand is above his 
knees. He calls, he waves his hat or his 
handkerchief; the sand gains on him more 
and more. If the beach is deserted, if the 
land is too far off, if there is no help in sight, 
it is all over. 



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201 



He is condemned to that appalling burial, 
long, infallible, implacable and impossible to 
slacken or to hasten, which endures for hours, 
which seizes you erect, free and in full health, 
md which draws you by the feet; which, at 
every effort that you attempt, at every shout 
3^ou utter, drags you a little deeper, sinking 
you slowly into the earth while you look 
upon the horizon, the sails of the ships upon 
the sea, the birds flying and singing, the sun- 
shine and the sky. The victim attempts to 
sit down, to lie down, to creep ; every move- 
ment he makes inters him ; he straightens 
up, he sinks in ; he feels that he is being 
swallowed. He howls, implores, cries to the 
clouds, despairs. 

Behold him waist deep in the sand. The 



sand reaches his breast; he is now only a 
bust. He raises his arms, utters furious 
groans, clutches the beach with his nails, 
would hold by that straw, leans upon his 
elbows, to pull himself out of this soft sheath ; 
sobs frenziedly ; the sand rises ; the sand 
reaches his shoulders ; the sand reaches his 
neck; the face alone is visible now. 

The mouth cries, the sand fills it — silence. 
The eyes still gaze — the sand shuts them ; 
night. Now the forehead decreases, a little 
hair flutters above the sand ; a hand come to 
the surface of the beach, moves, and shakes, 
disappears. It is the earth-drowning man. 
The earth filled with the ocean becomes a 
trap. It presents itself like a plain, and opens 
like a wave. Victor Hugo. 






THE LITTLE QUAKER SINNER. 




LIITLE Quaker maiden, with dimpled 
cheek and chin, 
Before an ancient mirror stood, and 
viewed her from within 
She wore a gown of sober gray, a cap demure 

and prim, 
With only simple fold and hem, yet dainty, neat 

and trim. 
Her bonnet, too, was gray and stiff; its only line 

of grace 
Was in the lace, so soft and white, shirred round 
her rosy face. 

Quoth she: *^ Oh, how I hate this hat ! I hate 
this gown and cape ! 

I do wish all my clothes were not of such out- 
landish shape ! 

The children passing by to school have ribbons 
on their hair ; 

The little girl next door wears blue ; oh, dear, if 
I could dare, 

I know what I should like to do !" — (The words 
were whispered low, 

Lest such tremendous heresy should reach her 
aunts below.) 



Calmly reading in the parlor sat the good aunts 
Faith and Peace, 

Little dreaming how rebellious throbbed the 
heart of their young niece. 

All their prudent, humble teaching willfully she 
cast aside. 

And, her mind now fully conquered by vanity 
and pride, 

She, with trembling heart and fingers, on a has- 
sock sat her down, 

And this little Quaker sinner sewed a tuck into 
her gown ! 

"Little Patience, art thou ready? Fifth day 

meeting time has come, 
Mercy Jones and Goodman Elder with his wife 

have left their home. ' ' 
'Twas Aunt Faith's sweet voice that called her. 

and the naughty httle maid — 
Gliding down the dark old stairway — hoped their 

notice to evade. 
Keeping shyly in their shadow as they went out 

at the door. 
Ah ! never little Quakeress a guiltier conscience 

bore ! 



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Dear Aunt Faith walked looking upward; all her 

thoughts were pure and holy; 
And Aunt Peace w^alked gazing downward, wdth 

a humble mind and lowly. 
But ''tuck — tuck!" chirped the sparrows, at 

the little maiden's side; 
And, in passing Farmer Watson's, where the 

barn-door opened wide, 
Every sound that issued from it, every grunt and 

every cluck, 
Was to her affrighted fancy like " a tuck ! " "a 

tuck!" ''a tuck!" 

In meeting, Goodman Elder spoke of pride and 

vanity. 
While all the Friends seemed looking round that 

dreadful tuck to see. 
How it swelled in its proportions, till it seemed 

to fill the air, 



And the heart of little Patience grew heavier 
with her care. 

O, the glad relief to her, when, prayers and ex- 
hortations ended. 

Behind her two good aunties her homeward way 
she wended ! 

The pomps and vanities of life she'd seized with 
eager arms. 

And deeply she had tasted of the world's allur- 
ing charms — 

Yea, to the dregs had drained them, and only 
this to find: 

All was vanity of spirit and vexation of the mind. 

So, repentant, saddened, humbled on her hassock 
she sat down, 

And this little Quaker sinner ripped the tuck out 
of her gown ! 

Lucy L. Montgomery. 



THE TELL=TALE HEART. 

The emotions of horror and dismay are vividly brought out in this selection, which is character- 
istic of some of the writings of Edgar A. Poe. He had a morbid fancy for the weird, the gruesome 
and startling, all of which appear in this ghastly description from his pen. The piece is an excellent 
one of its kind. It requires the ability of a tragedian to properly deliver it. 




ITH a loud yell I threw open the 
lantern and leaped into the room. 
He shrieked once — once only. In 
an instant I dragged him to the floor, and 
pulled the heavy bed over him. I then 
smiled gayly to find the deed so far done. 
But for many minutes the heart beat on with 
a muffled sound. This, however, did not 
vex me; it would not be heard through the 
wall. At length it ceased. The old man 
was dead. I removed the bed and examined 
the corpse. I placed my hand upon the 
heart and held it there many minutes. There 
was no pulsation. He was stone dead. His 
eye would trouble me no more. 

If you still think me mad, you will think 
so no longer when I describe the wise pre- 
cautions I took for the concealment of the 
body. The night waned, and I worked has- 



tily, but in silence. First of all I dismem- 
bered the corpse. 

I then took up three planks from the 
flooring of the chamber and deposited all 
between the scantlings. I then replaced the 
boards so cleverly, so cunningly, that no 
human eye — not even his — could have de- 
tected anything wrong. 

When I had made an end of these labors 
it was four o'clock — still dark as midnight. 
As the bell sounded the hour, there came a 
knocking at the street door. I went down 
to open it with a light heart — for what had 
I now to fear? Then entered three men 
who introduced themselves, with perfect 
suavity, as officers of the police. A shriek 
had been heard by a neighbor during the 
night ; suspicion of foul play had been 
aroiised ; information had been lodged at the 



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205 



police ofifice, and they (the officers) had been 
deputed to search the premises. 

I smiled — for what had I to fear ? I bade 
the gentlemen welcome. The shriek, I said, 
was my own in a dream. The old man, I 
mentioned, was absent in the country. I 
took my visitors all over the house. I bade 
them search — search well. I led them at 
length to his chamber. I showed them his 
treasures, secure, undisturbed. In the en- 
thusiasm of my confidence I brought chairs 
into the room, and desired them here to rest 
from their fatigues, while I myself, in the 
wild audacity of my perfect triumph, placed 
my own seat upon the very spot beneath 
which reposed the corpse of the victim. 

The officers were satisfied. My manner 
had convinced them. I was singularly at 
ease. But ere long I felt myself getting pale 
and wished them gone. My head ached, 
and I fancied a ringing in my ears ; but still 
they sat and still chatted. The ringing be- 
came more distinct ; it continued and gained 
definitiveness — until at length I found that 
the noise was not within my ears. 

No doubt I now grew very pale ; but I 
talked more fluently and with a heightened 
voice. Yet the sound increased — and what 
could I do. It was a low, dull, quick sound 
— much such a sound as a watch makes 



when enveloped in cotton. I gasped foi 
breath — and yet the officers heard it not. 1 
talked more quickly^ — more vehemently ; but 
the noise steadily increased. I arose and 
argued about trifles, in a high key and with 
violent gesticulations ; but the noise steadily 
increased. Why would they not be gone ? I 
paced the floor to and fro with heavy stride;;, 
as if excited to fury by the observations of the 
men — but the noise steadily increased. O 
God ! what could I do ? I foamed — I raved — 
I swore ! I swung the chair upon which I had 
been sitting, and grated it upon the boards, 
but the noise arose over all and continually 
increased. It grew louder — louder — louder. 
And still the men chatted pleasantly and 
smiled. Was it possible they heard not ? 

They heard ! — they suspected ! — they knew ! 
—they were making a mockery of my hor- 
ror ! this I thought, and this I think. But 
anything was better than this agony ! Any- 
thing was more tolerable than this derision ! 
I can bear those hypocritical smiles no 
longer ! I felt that I must scream or die ! — ■ 
and now- — again ! — hark ! louder ! louder ! 
louder ! louder ! 

** Villains ! " I shrieked, " dissemble no 
more ! I admit the deed — tear up the planks ! 
here! here! it is the beating of his hideous 
heart ! " Edgar Allan Poe. 



THE LITTLE MATC!1=GIRL. 



A CHRISTMAS STORY. 



IT was terribly cold ; it snowed and was 
already almost dark and evening com- 
ing on— the last evening of the year. 
In the cold and gloom a little girl, bareheaded 
and barefooted, was walking through the 
streets. When she left her own house she 
certainly had slippers on, slippers, but of 
what use were they ? They were very big 
slippers^ and her mother had used them yntil 



then. So big were they the little maid lose 
them as she slipped across the road, where 
two carriages were rattling by terribly fast. 
On.Q slipper was not to be found again, and 
a boy had seized the other and ran away 
with it. So now the little girl went with 
naked feet, which were quite red and blue 
with the cold. In an old apron she carried 
a number of niatches and a buiidle of thern 



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»n her hanu. No one had bought anything 
oi her all day, and no one had given her a 
farthing. 

Shivering with cold and hunger she crept 
along, a picture of misery, poor little girl ! 
The snow-flakes covered her long, fair hair, 
which fell in pretty curls over her neck, but 
>he did not think of that now. In all the 
windows lights were shining and there was a 
glorious smell of roast goose, for it was 
Christmas Eve. Yes, she thought of that ! 

In a corner formed by two houses, one of 
Tvhich projected beyond the other, she sat 
down, cowering. She had drawn up her 
little feet, but she was still colder, and she 
did not dare go home, for she had sold no 
matches, and did not therefore have a farth- 
ing of money. From her father she would 
certainly receive a beating, and, besides, it 
was cold at home, for they had nothing over 
them but a roof, through which the wind 
whistled, though the largest rents had been 
stopped with straw and rags. 

Her hands were almost benumbed with 
the cold. Ah ! a match might do her good 
if she could only draw one from the bundle 
and rub it against the wall and warm her 
hands at it. She draws one outo R-r-atch ! 
How it sputtered and burned! It was a 
warm, bright flame, like a candle, when she 
held her hands over it ; it was a wonderful 
little light ! It really seemed to the child as 
if she sat before a great polished stove with 
bright brass feet and a brass cover. How 
the fire burned! How comfortable it was! 
but the little flame went out, the stove van- 
ished, and she had only the remains of the 
burnt match in her hand. 

A second one was rubbed against the wall. 
It burned up, and when the light fell upon 
the wall it became transparent, like a thin 
veil, and she could see through it into the 
room. On the table a snow-white cloth was 
spr,;ad; upon it stood a shining dinner ser- 



vice; the roast goose smoked gloriously, 
stuffed with apples and dried plums. And 
what was still more splendid to behold, the 
goose hopped down from the dish and wad- ■ 
died along the floor, with a knife and fork 'n\ f 
its breast, to the little girl. 

Then the match went out, and only the 
thick, damp, cold wall was before her. She 
lighted another match. Then she was sitting 
under g. beautiful Christmas tree; it was 
greater and more ornamented than the one 
she had seen through the glass door at the rich 
merchant's. Thousands of candles burned 
upon its green branches and lighted up the 
pictures in the room. The girl stretched 
forth her hand toward them ; then the match 
went out. The Christmas lights mounted 
higher. She saw them now as stars in the 
sky ; one of them fell down, forming a long 
line of fire. 

" Now some one is dying," thought the 
little girl, for her old grandmother, the only 
person who had loved her and who was now 
dead, had told her that when a star fell down 
a soul mounted up to God. 

She rubbed another match against the 
wall ; it became bright again, and in the 
brightness the old grandmother stood clear 
and shining, mild and lovely. 

" Grandmother ! " cried the child, " ohJ 
take me with you ! I know you will go 
when the match is burned out. You wil^ 
vanish like the warm fire, the warm food, 
and the great, glorious Christmas tree ! " 

And she hastily rubbed the whole bundle 
of matches, for she wished to hold her grand- 
mother fast. And the matches burned with 
such a glow that it became brighter than w 
the middle of the day; grandmother had 
never been so large or so beautiful. She 
took the child in her arms and both flew in 
brightness and joy above the earth, very, 
very high ; and up there was neither cold 
nor hunger nor care — they were with God. 



DESCRIPTIVE AND DRAMATIC RECITATIONS. 



205 



But in the corner, leaning against the wall, 
sat the poor girl with red cheeks and smiling 
mouth, frozen to death. '* She wanted to 
warm herself/' the people said. No one 



imagined what a beautiful thing jhe had 

seen and in what glory she had gone lu 

with her grandmother on that Christmas 
night. Hans Christian Andersen. 



THE MONK'S VISION, 



I RE AD a legend of a monk who painted, 
In an old convent cell in days bygone, 
Pictures of martyrs and of virgins sainted, 
And the sweet Christ-face with the crown of 
thorn. 

Poor daubs not fit to be a chapel's treasure — 
Full many a taunting word upon them fell ; 

But the good abbot let him, for his pleasure, 
Adorn with them his solitary cell. 

One night the poor monk mused: '' Could I but 
render 

Honor to Christ as other painters do — 
Were but my skill as gpeat as i.s the tender 

Love that inspires me wnen His cross I view ! 

*'But no ; 'tis vain I toil and strive in sorrow; 
What man so scorns, still less can He admire; 



My life's work is all valueless ; to-morrow 
I'll cast my ill- wrought pictures in the fire." 

He raised his eyes within his cell — O wonder ! 

There stood a visitor ; thorn-crowned was He, 
And a sweet voice the silence rent asunder: 

''I scorn no work that's done for love of me." 

And round the walls the paintings shone re- 
splendent 

With lights and colors to this world unknown, 
A perfect beauty, and a hue transcendent, 

That never yet on mortal canvas shone. 

There is a meaning in this strange old story; 

Let none dare judge his brother's worth or 
need; 
The pure intent gives to the act its glory, 

The noblest purpose makes the grandest deed. 



6irHE 



THE BOAT RACE. 



HE Algonquins rowed up and down a 
^ I few times before the spectators. They 
appeared in perfect training, mettle- 
some as colts, steady as draught horses, deep 
breathed as oxen, disciplined to work to- 
gether as symmetrically as a single sculler 
pulls his pair of oars. 

Five minutes passed, and all eyes were 
strained to the south, looking for the Ata- 
lanta. A dumb of trees hid the edge of the 
lake along which the Corinna's boat was 
stealing toward the starting point. Presently 
the long shell swept into view, with its 
blooming rowers. How steadily the Ata- 
lanta came on ! No rocking, no splashing, 
no apparent strain ; the bow oar turning to 



look ahead every now and then, and watch- 
ing her course, which seemed to be straight 
as an arrov/, the beat of the strokes as true 
and regular as the pulse of the healthiest 
rower among them all. 

If the sight of the other boat and its crew^, 
of young men was beautiful, how lovely was 
the look of this : eight young girls - all in 
the flush of youth, all in vigorous health ; 
every muscle taught. its duty; each rower 
alert not to be a tenth of a second out of 
time, or let her oar dally with the v/ater so 
as to lose an ounce of its propelling virtue ; 
every eye kindling with the hope of victory. 
Each of the boats was cheered as it came in 
sight, but the cheers for the Atalanta were 



206 



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-..lurally the loudest, as the gallantry oi one 
ricx and the clear, high voices of the other 
gave it life and vigor. ' 

*'Take your places! " shouted the umpire, 
five minutes before the half-hour. The two 
! oats felt their way slowly and cautiously to 
their positions. After a little backing and 
filling they got into line, and sat motionless, 
the bodies of the rowers bent forward, their 
arms outstretched, their oars in the water, 
waiting for the word. " Go ! " shouted the 
umpire. Away sprang the Atalanta, and far 
behind her leaped the Algonquin, her oars 
bending like long Indian bows as their blades 
flashed through the water. 

" A stern chase is a long chase,'' especially 
when one craft is a great distance behind the 
other. It looked as if it would be impossible 
for the rear boat to overcome the odds against 
it. Of course, the Algonquin kept gaining, 
but could it possibly gain enough ? As the 
boats got farther and farther away, it became 
difficult to determine what ch?'*ige there was 
in the interval between them. 

But when they came to rounding the stake 
it was easier to guess at the amount of space 
which had been gained. Something like half 
the distance — four lengths as nearly as could 
be estimated — had been made up in rowing 
the first three-quarters of a mile. Could the 
Algonquins do a little better than this in the 
second half of the race-course they would be 
sure of winning. 

The boats had turned the stake and were 
roming in rapidly. Every minute the Uni- 
1 ?rsity boat was getting nearer the other. 

" Go it, 'Quins! " shouted the students. 

** Pull away, 'Lantas ! " screamed the girls, 
/ho were crowding down to the edge of the 
,»/ater. '- 

Nearer, nearer — the rear boat is pressing 
(he other more and more closely — a few 
more strokes and they will be even. It looks 
desperate for the Atalantas. The bow oar of 



the Algonquin turns, his head. He sees the 
little coxswain leaning forward at every 
stroke, as if her trivial weight were of such 
mighty consequence—but a few ounces might 
turn the scale of victory. As he turned he 
got a glimpse of the stroke oar of the Ata- 
lanta ; what a flash of loveliness it was I 
Her face was like the reddest of June roses, 
with the heat and the strain and passion of 
expected triumph. 

The upper button of her close-fitting flan- 
nel suit had strangled her as her bosom 
heaved with exertion, and it had given way 
before the fierce clutch she made at it. The 
bow oar was a staunch and steady rower, 
but he was human. The blade of his oar 
lingered in the water; a little more and he 
would have caught a crab, and perhaps lost 
the race by his momentary bewilderment. 

The boat, which seemed as if it had all the 
life and nervousness of a three-year-old colt, 
felt the slight check, and all her men bent 
more vigorously to their oars. The Atalanta 
saw the movement, and made a spurt to keep 
their lead and gain upon it if they could. It 
was no use. The strong arms of the young 
men were too much for the young maidens ; 
only a few lengths remained to be rowed, and 
they would certainly pass the Atalanta be- 
fore she could reach the line. 

The little coxswain saw that it was all up 
with the girls' crew if she could not save 
them by some strategic device. As she 
stooped she lifted the handkerchief at her 
feet and took from it a flaming bouquet 
" Look ! " she cried, and flung it just forward 
of the track of the Algonquin. 

The captain of the University boat turned 
his head, and there was the lovely vision 
which had, a moment before, bewitched him. 
The owner of all that loveliness must, he 
thought, have flung the bouquet. It was a 
challenge ; how could he be such a coward 
as to decline accepting it? He was sure he 



f 



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207 



could win the race now, and he would sweep 
past the line m triumph with the great bunch 
of flowers at the stern of his boat, proud as 
Van Tromp in the British Channel with the 
broom at his masthead. 

He turned the boat's head a little by back- 
ing water, and came up with the floating 
flowers, near enough to reach them. He 
stooped and snatched them up, with the loss 
perhaps of a second, no more. He felt sure 
of his victory. 

The bow of the AlgonquLi passes the 
stern of the Atalanta! The bow of the Al- 
gonquin is on a level with the middle of the 
Atalanta — three more lengths and the college 
crew will pass the girls ! 

"Hurrah for the 'Quins!" The Algon- 
quin ranges up alongside of the Atalanta! 

" Through with her ! " shouts the captain 
of the Algonquin. 



" Now, girls ! " shrieks the captain of the 
Atalanta. 

They near the line, every rower straining 
desperately, almost madly. Crack goes the 
oar of the Atalanta's captain, and up flash its 
splintered fragments as the stem of her boat 
springs past the line, eighteen inches at least 
ahead of the Algonquin. 

" Hooraw for the 'Lantas ! Hooraw for 
the girls ! Hooraw for the Institoot ! " shout 
a hundred voices. 

And there is loud laughing and cheering 
all round. 

The pretty little captain had not studied 
her classical dictionary for nothing. " I 
have paid off an old 'score,' " she said. "Set 
down my damask roses against the golden 
apples of Hippomenes ! " It was that one 
second lost in snatching up the bouquet 
which gave the race to the Atalantas I 



^^<^^^ 



PHILLIPS OF PELHAMVILLE. 




HORT is the story I say, if you will 
Hear it, of Phillips of Pelhamville : 

An engineer for many a day 

Over miles and miles of the double ^yay. 

He was out that day, running sharp, for he knew 
He must shunt ahead for a train overdue, 

The South Express coming on behind 
With the swing a^id rush of a mighty wind. 

No need to say in this verse of mine 
How accidents happen along the line. 

A rail lying wide to the gauge ahead, 
A signal clear when it should be red ; 

An axle breaking, the tire of a wheel 
Snapping off at a hidden flaw in the steel. 

Enough. There v^'ere wagons piled up in the air, 
As if some giant had tossed them there. 

Rails broken and bent like a willow wand, 
And sleepers torn up through the ballast and sand. 



The hiss of the steam was heard, as it rushed 
Through the safety-valves ; the engine crushed 

Deep into the slope, like a monster driven 
To hide itself from the eye of heaven. 

But where was Phi]lij>s? From underneath 
The tender wheels, with their grip of death, 

They drew him, scalded by steam, and burned 
By the engine fires as it overturned. 

They laid him gently upon the slope. 
Then knelt beside him with little of hope. 

Though dying, he was the only one 

Of them all that knew what ought to be done; 

l-'or his fading eye grew quick with a fear, 
As if of some danger approaching near. 

And it sought —not the wreck of his train that lay 
Over the six and the four feet away — 

But down the track, for there hung on his mind 
The South Express coming up behind. 



208 



DESCRIPTIVE AND DRAMATIC RECITATIONS. 



And he half arose with a stifled groan, 
While his voice had the same old ring in its tone 
•Signal the Soiilli Express!" he said, 
/hen fell back in the arms of his fireman, dead. 
Sliort, as you see, is this story of mine, 
And of one more hero of the line. 



For hero he was, though before his name 
Goes forth no trumpet-blast of fame. 

Yet true to his duty, as steel to steel, 
Was Phillips the driver of Pelhamville. 

Alexander Anderson. 



IF 



POOR LITTLE JIM. 



cottage was a thatched one, the outside 
1 1 old and mean, 

But all within that little cot was wondrous 
neat and clean ; 
The night was dark and stormy, the wind was 

howling wild, 
As a patient mother sat beside the death-bed of 

her child : 
A little worn-out creature, his once bright eyes 

grown dim: 
It was a collier's wife and child, they called him 
little Jim. 

And oh ! to see the briny tears fast nurrying down 

her cheek. 
As she offered up the prayer, in thought, she was 

afraid to speak. 
Lest she might waken one she loved far better 

than her life ; 
For she had all a mother's heart, had that poor 

collier's wife. 
With hands uplifted, see, she kneels beside the 

sufferer's bed. 
And prays that He would spare her boy, and take 

herself instead. 

She gets her answer from the child : soft fall the 
words from him : 

" Mother, the angels do so smile, and beckon lit- 
tle Jim, 

I have no pain, dear mother, now, but oh ! I am 
so dry. 



Just moisten poor Jim's lips again, and, mother. 

don't you cry." 
With gentle, trembling haste she held the liquid 

to his lip ; 
He smiled to thank her as he took each little, 

tiny sip; 

'^ Tell father, when he comes from work, I said 

good-night to him, 
And, mother, now I'll go to sleep." Alas! poor 

little Jim ! 
She knew that he was dying ; that the child she 

loved so dear 
Had uttered the last words she might ever ho-pe 

to hear : 
The cottage door is opened, the collier's step is 

heard. 
The father and the mother meet, yet neither 

speak a word. 

He felt that all was over, he knew his child was 
dead, 

He took the candle in his hand and walked to- 
ward the bed ; 

His quivering lips gave token of the grief he'd 
fain conceal, 

And see, his wife has joined him — the stricken 
couple kneel : 

With hearts bowed down by sadness, they humbly 
ask of Him, 

In heaven once more to meet again their own 
poor little Jim. 



Orations by Famous Orators, 



^..o^...^^ 



An oration, strictly speaking-, is an elabo- 
rate discourse delivered on some special 
occasion, and in a somewhat formal and dig- 
nified manner. As this class of recitations 
stands by itself and is quite different from 



the other selections contained in this volume, cal ability required for reci^jog them. 



I have grouped together here a number of 
Famous Orations, a)) of which have given 
their authors celebrity. These are well 
suited for public delivery by those who pre- 
fer this kind of recitation and have the oratori- 



TRUE MORAL COURAGE. 

BY HENRY CLAY. 

When reference is made to America's greatest orators it is customary to mention the name of Henry 
Clay among the very first. He was frequently called *' The Mill Boy of the Slashes," from the fact that he 
was a poor boy and was born in a district in Virginia called '" the Slashes."' Mr. Clay was tali and slender 
and had a voice of wonderful range and sympathy, was rem_arkably easy and graceful in manner, and few 
orators who ever lived possessed such persuasive power. 

The opening part of this fine selection should be delivered in a rather quiet, slightly satirical tone ; but 
iti the later passages the speaker should grow warm and enthusiastic, and voice and gesture should express 
a full appreciation of the lofty sentiments he is uttering. 



C^ I HERE is a sort of courage, which, I 
^ I frankly confess it, I do not possess — 
a boldness to which I dare not aspire, 
a valor which I cannot covet. I cannot lay 
myself down in the way of the welfare and 
happiness of my country. That, I cannot — 
I have not the courage to do. I cannot in- 
terpose the power with which I may be in- 
vested—a power conferred, not for my per- 
sonal benefit, nor for my aggrandizement, 
but for my country's good—to check her 
onward march to greatness and glory. I 
have not courage enough, I am too cowardly 
or that. 

I would not, I dare not, in the exercise of 
such a threat, lie down, and place my tody 
across the path that leads my country to 
prosperity and happiness. This is a sort of 
courage widely different from that which a 
man may display in his private conduct and 
personal relations. Personal or private cour- 
(14— X) 



age is totally distinct from that higher and 
nobler courage which prompts the patriot to 
offer himself a voluntary sacrifice to his 
country's good. 

Apprehensions of the imputation of the. 
want of firmness sometimes impel us to per- 
form rash and inconsiderate acts. It is the 
greatest courage to be able to bear the im- 
putation of the want of courage. 

But pride, vanity, egotism, so unamiable 
and offensive in private life, are vices which 
partake of the character of crimes in the 
conduct of public affairs. The unfortunate 
victim of these passions cannot see beyond 
the little, petty, contemptible circle of his 
own personal interests. All his thoughts are 
withdrawn from his country, and concen- 
trated on his consistency, his firmness, him- 
self * 

The high, the exalted, the sublime emo- 
tions of a patriotism which, soaring toward 

209 






210 



ORATIONS BY FAMOUS ORATORS. 



heaven, rises far above all mean, low, or 
selfish things, and is absorbed by one soul- 
transporting thought of the good and the 
glory of one's country, are never felt in his 
impenetrable bosom. That patriotism which, 
catching its inspiration of the immortal God, 



and, leaving at an immeasurable distance be- 
low all lesser, groveling, personal interests 
and feelings, animates and prompts to deeds 
of self-sacrifice, of valor, of devotion, and of 
death itself — that is public virtue; that is the 
noblest, the sublimest of all public virtues ! 



THE STRUGGLE FOR LIBERTY. 

BY JOSIAH QUINCY. 

An American orator and patriot, born in Massachusetts in 1744, Mr. Quincy, by his fervid and con< 
vincing eloquence, was one of the most powerful champions of the popular cause of independence. 




D 



E not deceived, my countrymen. 
Believe not these venal hirelings, 
when they would cajole you by 
their subtleties into submission, or 
frighten you by their vaporings into com- 
pliance. When they strive to flatter you by 
the terms *' moderation and prudence," tell 
them that calmness and deliberation are to 
guide the judgment; courage and intrepidity 
command the action. When they endeavor 
to make us " perceive our inability to oppose 
our mother country," let us boldly answer — 
In defence of our civil and religious rights, 
we dare oppose the world ; with the God of 
armies on our side, even the God who fought 
our fathers' battles, we fear not the hour of 
trial, though the hosts of our enemies should 
cover the field like locusts. If this be enthu- 
siasm, we will live and die enthusiasts. 

Blandishments will not fascinate us, nor 
will threats of a " halter " intimidate. For, 
under God, we are determined, that whereso- 
ever, whensoever, or howsoever we shall be 
called to make our exit, we will die freemen. 
IVell do we know that all the regalia of this 
world can not dignify the death of a villain, 
nor diminish the ignominy with which a 
slave shall quit existence. 

Neither can it taint the unblemished honor 
of a son of freedom though he should make 
his departure on the already prepared gibbet, 



or be dragged to the newly-erected scaffold 
for execution. With the plaudits ot his coun- 
try, and what is more, the plaudits of his con- 
science, he will go off the stage. The history 
of his life, his children shall venerate. The vir- 
tues of their sires shall excite their emulation. 

Is the debt we owe posterity paid ? An- 
swer me, thou coward, who hidest thyself in 
the hour of trial ! If there is no reward in 
this life, no prize of glory in the next, capa- 
ble of animating thy dastard soul, think and 
tremble, thou miscreant! at the whips and 
stripes thy master shall lash thee with on earth 
— and the flames and scorpions thy second 
master shall torment thee with hereafter ! 

Oh my countrymen ! what will our chiU 
dren say, when they read the history of these 
times, should they find that we tamely gave 
way, without one noble struggle for the most 
invaluable of earthly blessings ! As they 
drag the galling chain, will they not execrate 
us? If we have any respect for things 
sacred, any regard to the dearest treasure on 
earth ; if we have one tender sentiment for 
posterity ; if we would not be despised by 
the world; let us, in the most open, solemn 
manner, and with determined fortitude, swear 
— we will die if we cannot live freemen. While 
we have equity, justice, and God on our side, 
tyranny, spiritual or temporal, shall never ride 
triumphant in a land inhabited by Englishmen. 



ORATIONS BY FAMOUS ORATORS. 



211 



CENTENNIAL ORATION. 

BY HENRY ARMITT BROWN. 

From the oration delivered upon the occasion of the Centennial Anniversary of the meeting of the first 
Colonial Congress in Carpenters ' Hall, Philadelphia. This oration is the masterpiece of a young orator 
who died when but little past the age of thirty, having already gained a wide celebrity for scholarly attain- 
ments and commanding eloquence. It is remarkable for boldness of thought and fervor of expression. 



fHE conditions of life are always chang- 
ing, and the experience of the fathers 
is rarely the experience of the sons. 
The temptations which are trying us are not 
the temptations which beset their footsteps, 
nor the dangers which threaten our pathway 
the dangers which surrounded them. These 
men were few in number; we are many. 
They were poor, but we are rich. They were 
weak, but we are strong. What is it, coun- 
trymen, that we need to-day? Wealth? Be- 
hold it in your hands. Power? God hath 
given it you. Liberty? It is your birth- 
right. Peace ? It dwells amongst you. 

You have a Government founded in the 
hearts of men, built by the people for the 
common good. You have a land flowing 
with milk and honey; your homes are happy, 
your workshops busy, your barns are full. 
The school, the railway, the telegraph, the 
printing press, have welded you together into 
one. Descend those mines that honeycomb 
the hills ! Behold that commerce whitening 
every sea ! Stand by your gates and see that 
multitude pour through them from the cor- 
ners of the earth, grafting the qualities of 
older stocks upon one stem ; mingling the 
blood of many races in a common stream, 
and sv/eUing the rich volume of our English 
speech with varied music from an hundred 
tongues. 

You have a long and glorious history, a 
past glittering with heroic deeds, an ancestry 
full of lofty and imperishable examples. You 
have passed through danger, endured priva- 
tion, been acquainted with sorrow, been tried 
by suffering. You have journeyed in safety 



through the wilderness and crossed in tri- 
umph the Red Sea of civil strife, and the 
foot of Him who led you hath not faltered 
nor the light of His countenance been turned 
away. 

It is a question for us now, not of the 
founding of a new government, but of the 
preservation of one already old ; not of the 
formation of an independent power, but of 
the purification of a nation's life; not of the 
conquest of a foreign foe, but of the subjec- 
tion of ourselves. The capacity of man to 
rule himself is to be proven in the days to 
come, not by the greatness of his wealth ; 
not by his valor in the field ; not by the ex- 
tent of his dominion, nor by the splendor r-f 
his genius. 

The dangers of to-day come from within. 
The worship of self, the love of power, the 
lust for gold, the weakening of faith, the de- 
cay of public virtue, the lack of private worth 
— these are the perils which threaten our 
future; these are the enemies we have to 
fear ; these are the traitors which infest the 
camp; and the danger was far less when 
Catiline knocked with his army at the gates 
of Rome, than when he sat smiling in the 
Senate House. We see them daily face to 
face ; in the walk of virtue ; in the road to 
wealth; in the path to honor; on the way to 
happiness. There is no peace between them 
and our safety. Nor can we avoid them and 
turn back. It is not enough to rest upon the 
past. No man or nation can stand still. We 
must mount upward or go down. We must 
grow worse or better. It is ""he Eternal 
Law — ^»'^ cannot change it. 



^12 



ORATIONS BY FAMOUS ORATORS. 



My countrymen : this anniversary has gone 
by forever, and my task is done. While I 
have spoken, the hour has passed from us ; 
the hand has moved upon the dial, and the 
old century is dead. The American Union 
hath endured an hundred years! Here, on 
this threshold of the future, the voice of 
humanity shall not plead to us in vain. 
There shall be darkness in the days to come ; 
danger for our courage ; temptation for our 
virtue; doubt for our faith; suffering for 



our fortitude. A thousand shall fall before 
us, and tens of thousands at our right 
hand. The years shall pass beneath our 
feet, and century follow century in quick 
succession. The generations of men shall 
come and go; the greatness of yesterday 
shall be forgotten ; to-day and the glories of 
this noon shall vanish before to-morrow's 
sun; but America shall not perish, but endure 
while the spirit of our fathers animates their 
sons. 



SPEECH OF SHREWSBURY BEFORE QUEEN ELIZABETH, 



BY FREDERIC VON SCHILLER. 



^^ CD whose most wondrous hand has 
•) I four times protected you, and who 
to-day gave the feeble arm of gray 
hairs strength to turn aside the stroke of a 
madman, should inspire confidence. I will not 
now speak in the name of justice : this is not 
the time. In such a tumult, you cannot 
hear her still small voice. Consider this 
only : you are fearful now of the living Mary ; 
but I say it is not the living you have to 
fear. Tremble at the dead — the beheaded. 
She will rise from the grave a fiend of dis- 
sension. She will awaken the spirit of re- 
venge in your kingdom, and wean the hearts 
of your subjects from you. At present she 
is an object of dread to the British ; but 
when she is no more, they will revenge her. 
No longer will she then be regarded as 



the enemy of their faith ; her mournful fate 
will cause her to appear as the grand-daugh- 
ter of their king, the victim of man's hatred, 
and woman's jealousy. Soon will you see 
the change appear ! Drive through London 
after the bloody deed has been done ; show 
yourself to the people, who now surround 
you with joyful acclamations : then will you 
see another England, another people ! No 
longer will you then walk forth encircled by 
the radiance of heavenly justice which now 
binds every heart to you. Dread the fright- 
ful name of tyrant which will precede you 
through shuddering hearts, and resound 
through every street where you pass. You 
have done the last irrevocable deed. What 
head stands fast when this sacred one has 
fallen ? ' 



THE PROSPECTS OF THE REPUBLIC 



BY EDWARD EVERETT. 

fe I HIS, then, is the theatre on which the 

^ I intellect of America is to appear, and 

such the motives to its exertion, such 

the mass to be influenced by its energies, 

such the crowd to witness its efforts, such the 



glory to crown its success. If I err in thi? 
happy vision of my country's fortunes, I 
thank God for an error so animating. If this 
be false may I never know the truth. Never 
may you, my friends, be under any other 



ORATIONS BY FAMOUS ORATORS. 



213 



feeling man that a great, a growing, an im- 
measurably expanding country is calling upon 
you for your best services. 

The most powerful motives call on us 
for those efforts which our common coun- 
try demands of all her children. Most of 
us are of that class who owe whatever of 
knowledge has shone into our minds, to 
the free and popular institutions of our 
native land. There are few of us, who may 
not be permitted to boast, that we have 
been reared in an honest poverty or a frugal 
competence, and owe everything to those 
means of education which are equally open 
fo all. 

We are summoned to new energy and zeal 
by the high nature of the experiment we are 
appointed in Providence to make, and the 
grandeur of the theatre on which it is to be 
performed. When the Old World afforded 
no longer any hope, it pleased Heaven to 
open this last refuge of humanity. The at- 
tempt has begun, and is going on, far from 
foreign corruption, on the broadest scale, and 
under the most benignant prospects ; and it 
certainly rests with us to solve the great 
problem in human society, to settle, and that 
forever, that momentous question — whether 
mankind can be trusted with a purely popu- 
lar system ? 

One might almost think, without extrava- 
gance, that the departed wise and good of all 



places and times are looking down from then 
happy seats to witness what shall now be 
done by us ; that they who lavished their 
treasures and their blood of old, who labored 
and suffered, who spake and wrote, who 
fought and perished, in the one great cause 
of freedom and truth, are now hanging from 
their orbs on high, over the last solemn ex- 
periment of humanity. 

As I have wandered over the spots, once 
the scene of their labors, and mused among 
the prostrate columns of their senate houses 
and forums, I have seemed almost to hear a 
voice from the tombs of departed ages; from 
the sepulchers of the nations, which died be- 
fore the sight. They exhort us, they adjure 
us, to be faithful to our trust. 

They implore us, by the long trials ol 
struggling humanity, by the blessed memory 
of the departed ; by the dear faith, which has 
been plighted by pure hands, to the holy 
cause of truth and man ; by the awful secrets 
of the prison houses, where the sons of free- 
dom have been immured ; by the noble head^ 
which have been brought to the block ; by 
the wrecks of time, by the eloquent ruins of 
nations, they conjure us not to quench the 
light which is rising on the world. Greece 
cries to us, by the convulsed lips of her pois- 
oned, dying Demosthenes ; and Rome pleads 
with us, in the mute persuasion of her man- 
gled Tully. 



THE PEOPLE ALWAYS CONQUER. 

BY EDWARD EVERETT. 

As a finished scholar and eloquent speaker, Mr. Everett gained the highest distinction. His silvery 
tones and flowery periods held multitudes spellbound. His orations were always prepared with the 
greatest care, deUvered from memory, and are models of elevated thought and sentiment and brilhant 
diction. He was the finished orator, noted for the classic beauty of his writings. 




IR, in the efforts of the people — of 
the people struggling for their 
rights — moving, not in organized. 



disciplined masses, but in their spontaneous 
action, man for man, and heart for heart- 
there is something glorious. They can then 



214 



ORATIONS BY FAMOUS ORATORS. 



move forward without orders, act together 
without combination, and brave the flaming 
Hnes of battle without entrenchments to 
cover or walls to shield them. 

No dissolute camp has worn off from the 
feelings of the youthful soldier the freshness 
of that home, where his mother and his sis- 
ters sit waiting, with tearful eyes and aching 
hearts, to hear good news from the wars ; no 
long service in the ranks of a conqueror has 
turned the veteran's heart into marble. 
Their valor springs not from recklessness, 
from habit, from indifference to the preserva- 
tion of a life knit by no pledges to the life of 
others; but in the strength and spirit of the 
cause alone, they act, they contend, they 
bleed. In this they conquer. 

The people always conquer. They always 
must conquer. Armies may be defeated, 
kings may be overthrown, and new dynas- 
ties imposed, by foreign arms, on an ignor- 
ant and slavish race, that cares not in what 



language the covenant of their subjection 
runs, nor in whose name the deed of their 
barter and sale is made out. 

But the people never invade ; and, when 
they rise against the invader, are never sub- 
dued. If they are driven from the plains, 
they fly to the mountains. Steep rocks and 
everlasting hills are their castles ; the tangled, 
pathless thicket their palisado ; and nature, 
God, is their ally ! Now he overwhelms the 
hosts of their enemies beneath his drifting 
mountains of sand ; now he buries them be- 
neath a falling atmosphere of polar snows ; 
He lets loose his tempest on their fleets ; 
He puts a folly into their counsels, a mad- 
ness into the hearts of their leaders; He 
never gave, and never will give, a final tri- 
umph over a virtuous and gallant people, re- 
solved to be free. 

" For Freedom's battle once begun, 
Bequeathed from bleeding sire to son 
Though baffled oft, is ever won." 



TO THE SURVIVORS OF BUNKER HILL. 

BY DANIEL WEBSTER. 

One of the towering names in American statesmanship is that of Daniel Webster, " the great defender 
of the Constitution.'' Mr. Webster was not more remarkable for intellectual power than he was for mas- 
terly eloquence. His triumphs in Senatorial debate and on great public occasions are historic. In person 
he was large and brawny, with a swarthy complexion, massive head, and always conveyed the impression 
of strength, and, at times, even of majesty. His orations are masterpieces of patriotic fer /or and scholarly 
culture. 

\r /ENERABLE men ■ you have come 
Y(9 down to us from a former generation. 
^ Heaven has bounteously lengthened 
out your lives that you might behold this 
joyous day. You are now where you stood 
fifty years ago, this very hour, with your 
brothers and your neighbors, shoulder to 
shoulder, in the strife of your country. Be- 
hold how altered ! The same heavens are 
indeed over your heads ; the same ocean 
rolls at your feet ; but all else, how changed ! 



You hear now no roar of hostile cannon, you 
see no mixed volumes of smoke and flame 
rising from burning Charlestown. 

The ground strewed with the dead and 
the dying ; the impetuous charge ; the steady 
and successful repulse ; the loud call to re- 
peated assault ; the summoning of all that is 
manly to repeated resistance; a thousand 
bosoms freely and fearlessly bared in an in- 
stant to whatever of terror there may be in 
war and death ; — all these you have wit- 



ORATIONS BY FAMOUS ORATORS. 



215 



nessed, but you witness them no more. All 
is peace. The heights of yonder metropolis, 
its towers and roofs, which you then saw 
filled with wives and children and country- 
men in distress and terror, and looking with 
unutterable emotions for the issue of the 
combat, have presented you to-day with the 
sight of its whole happy population, come 
out to welcome and greet you with a univer- 
sal jubilee. 

Yonder proud ships, by a felicity of posi- 
tion appropriately lying at the foot of this 
mount, and seeming fondly to cling around 
it, are not means of annoyance to you, but 
your country's own means of distinction and 
defence. All is peace ; and God has granted 
you this sight of your country's happiness, 
ere you slumber in the grave for ever. He 
has allowed you to behold and partake the 
reward of your patriotic toils; and he has 
allowed us, your sons and countrymen, to 
meet you here, and in the name of the pres- 



ent generation, in the name of your country, 
in the name of liberty, to thank you ! 

But, alas ! you are not all here ! Time and 
the sword have thinned your ranks. Pres- 
cott, Butnam, Stark, Brooks, Read, Pomeroy, 
Bridge ! our eyes seek for you in vain amidst 
this broken band. You are gathered to your 
fathers, and live only to your country in her 
grateful remembrance and your own bright 
example. But let us not too much grieve 
that you have met the common fate of men. 
You lived at least long enough to know that 
your work had been nobly and successfully 
accomplished. You lived to see your coun- 
try's independence established and to sheathe 
your swords from war. On the light of lib- 
erty you saw arise the light of Peace, like 

" another morn, 
Risen on mid-noon ; '' — 

and the sky on which you closed your eyes 
was cloudless. 



SOUTH CAROLINA AND MASSACHUSETTS, 



BY DANIEL WEBSTER 

j HE eulogium pronounced on the char- 
J I acter of the State of South Carolina 

by the honorable gentleman, for her 
revolutionary and other merits, meets my 
hearty concurrence. I shall not acknowledge 
that the honorable member goes before me 
\n regard for whatever of distinguished tal- 
ent, or distinguished character. South Caro- 
lina has produced. I claim part of the honor ; 

1 partake in the pride of her great names. I 
claim them for countrymen, one and all. The 
Laurenses, Rutledges, the Pinckneys, the 
Sumters, the Marions — Americans all — 
whose fame is no more to be hemmed in by 
state lines, than their talents and patriotism 
were capable of being circumscribed within 
the same narrow limits. 



In their day and generation, they servea 
and honored the country, the whole country, 
and their renown is of the treasures of the 
whole country. Him whose honored name 
the gentleman bears himself — does he sup- 
pose me less capable of gratitude for his pa- 
triotism, or sympathy for his sufferings, than 
if his eyes had first opened upon the light in 
Massachusetts instead of South Carolina ? 
Sir, does he suppose it in his power to ex- 
hibit a Carolina name so bright as to produce 
envy in my bosom ? No, sir — increased 
gratification and delight, rather. Sir, I thank 
God, that if I am gifted with little of the spirit 
which is said to be able to raise mortals to 
the skies, I have yet none, as I trust, of that 
other spirit which would drag angels down. 



216 



ORATIONS BY FAMOUS ORATORS. 



When I shall be found, sir, in my place 
here in the Senate, or elsewhere, to sneer at 
public merit, because it happened to spring 
up beyond the limits of my own State and 
neighborhood ; when I refuse, for any such 
cause, or for any cause, the homage due to 
American talent, to elevated patriotism, to 
sincere devotion to liberty and the country ; 
or if I see an uncommon endowment of 
heaven — if I see extraordinary capacity and 
virtue in any son of the South — and if, moved 
by local prejudice, or gangrened by State 
jealousy, I get up here to abate the tithe of a 
hair^ :^rom his just character and just fame, 



may my tongue cleave to the roof of my 
mouth ! 

I shall enter on no encomium upon Massa- 
chusetts — she needs none. There she is— ■ 
behold her and judge for yourselves. There 
is her history — the world knows it by heart. 
The past, at least, is secure. There is Boston 
and Concord, and Lexington, and Bunker's 
Hill ; and there they will remain forever. 
The bones of her sons, fallen in the great 
struggle for independence, now lie mingled 
with the soil of every State, from New Eng- 
land to Georgia ; and there they will lie for- 
ever. 



EULOQIUM ON SOUTH CAROLINA. 

BY ROBERT T. HAYNE. 

This distinguished American orator was born in the parish. of Saint Paul, South Carolina. His eminent 
ability soon secured for him a seat in the United States Senate. The following is from one of his orations 
delivered in the celebrated controversy between himself and Daniel Webster. It is a glowing defense of 
his native state, and is memorable in the annals of forensic eloquence. 

F there be one State in the Union, and I 



IF there be one State in the Union, and 
say it not in a boastful spirit, that may 
challenge comparison with any other 
for a uniform, zealous, ardent, and uncalcu- 
lating devotion to the Union, that State is 
South Carolina. From the very commence- 
ment of the Revolution, up to this hour, 
there is no sacrifice, however great, she has 
not cheerfully made, no service she has ever 
hesitated to perform. She has adhered to 
you in your prosperity ; but in your adversity 
she has clung to you with more than filial 
affection. 

. No matter what was the condition of her 
domestic affairs, though deprived of her re- 
sources, divided by parties, or surrounded 
by difficulties, the call of the country has 
been to her as the voice of God. Domestic 
discord ceased at the sound ; every man 
hccan^e reconciled to his brethren, and the 
sons of Carolina were all seen crowding to- 



gether to the temple, bringing their gifts to 
the altar of their common country. 

What was the conduct of the South dur- 
ing the Revolution? I honor New England 
for her conduct in that glorious struggle. 
But, great as is the praise which belongs to 
her, I think at least equal honor is due to 
the South. They espoused the quarrel of 
their brethren with a generous zeal which 
did not suffer them to stop to calculate their 
interest in the dispute. Favorites of the 
mother country, possessed of neither ships 
nor seamen to create a commercial rivalship, 
they might have found, in their situation, a 
guarantee that their trade would be forever 
fostered and protected by Great Britain. 
But trampling on all considerations, either of 
interest or safety, they rushed into the con- 
flict, and, fighting for principle, perilled all 
in the sacred cause of freedom. 

Never was there exhibited in the history 



ORATIONS BY FAMOUS ORATORS. 



217 



of the world higher examples of noble dar- 
ing, dreadful suffering, and heroic endurance 
than by the Whigs of Carolina during the 
.Revolution! The whole State, from the 
mountains to the sea, was overrun by an 
overwhelming force of the enemy. The 
fruits of industry perished on the spot where 
they were produced, or were consumed by 
the foe. 

The ^' plains of Carolina " drank up the 



most precious blood of her citizens. Black 
and smoking ruins marked the places which 
had been the habitations of her children. 
Driven from their homes into the gloomy 
and almost impenetrable swamps, even there 
the spirit of Hberty survived, and South Car- 
olina, sustained by the example of her Sum 
ters and her Marions, proved, by her con 
duct, that, though her soil might be overrun^, 
the spirit of her people was invincible. 



THE CHARACTER OF WASHINGTON. 

^BY WENDELL PHILLIPS. 

It has been said of Mr. Phillips that in his public addresses he was " a gentleman talking," so 
easy and graceful was his manner. *' The golden-mouthed Phillips " was also an appropriate title. 
Considered simply as an orator, perhaps our country has never produced his superior. 



IT matters very little what spot may have 
been the birthplace of Washington. No 
people can claim, no country can ap- 
propriate him. The boon of Providence to 
the human race, his fame is eternity, and his 
residence creation. Though it was the de- 
feat of our arms, and the disgrace of our 
policy, I almost bless the convulsion in which 
he had his origin. If the heavens thundered, 
and the earth rocked, yet, when the storm 
had passed, how pure was the climate that it 
cleared; how bright, in the brow of the 
firmament, was the planet which it revealed 
to us ! 

In the production of Washington, it does 
really appear as if Nature was endeavoring 
,to improve upon herself, and that all the vir- 
t ues of the ancient world were but so many 
-studies preparatory to the patriot of the new. 
Individual instances, no doubt, there were, 
splendid exemplifications of some singular 
qualification ; Caesar was merciful, Scipio was 
continent, Hannibal was patient ; but it was 
reserved for Washington to bind them all in 
one, and, like the lovely masterpiece of the 
Grecian artist^ to exhibit, in one glow of as- 



sociated beauty, the pride of every model, 
and the perfection of every master. 

As a general, he marshalled the peasant 
into a veteran, and supplied by discipline the 
absence of experience ; as a statesman, he 
enlarged the policy of the cabinet into the 
most comprehensive system of general ad- 
vantage ; and such was the wisdom of his 
views, and the philosophy of his counsels, 
that to the soldier, and the statesman he al- 
most added the character of the sage ! A 
conqueror, he was untainted with the crime 
of blood ; a revolutionist, he was free from 
any stain of treason ; for aggression com- 
menced the contest, and his country called 
him to the command. 

Liberty unsheathed his sword, necessity 
stained, victory returned it. If he had paused 
here, history might have doubted what sta- 
tion to assign him ; whether at the head of 
her citizens or her soldiers, her heroes or 
her patriots. But the last glorious act crowns 
his career, and banishes all hesitation. 

Who, like Washington, after having eman- 
cipated a hemisphere, resigned its crown, 
and preferred the retirement of domestic life 



218 



ORATIONS BY FAMOUS ORATORS. 



to the adoration of a land he might ahnost 
be said to have created ? 

*' How shall we rank thee upon Glory's page, 
Thou more than soldier, and just less than sage? 
All thou hast been reflects less fame on thee, 
Far less, than all thou hast forborne to be ! " 



Such, sir, is the testimony of one not to be 
accused of partiality in his estimate of Ame- 
rica. Happy, proud America! The light- 
nings of heaven yielded to your philosophy ! 
The temptations of earth could not seduce 
your patriotism. 



NATIONAL MONUMENT TO WASHINGTON. 

BY ROBERT C. WINTHROP. 
One of " Boston's hundred orators " is the author of this eloquent oration, which was delivered at the 
laying of the cornerstone of Washington's monument, that imposing shaft which is one of the greatest 
objects of interest at our national capital. Scarcely any finer tribute was ever paid to the Father of his 
Country. It should be delivered with full volume of voice and sustained energy 

Lf ELLOW-CITIZENS, let us seize this 

pj occasion to renew to each other our 

vows of allegiance and devotion to 



the American Union, and let us recognize 
in our common title to the name and the 
fame of Washington, and in our common 
veneration for his example and his advice, 
the all-sufficient centripetal power, which 
shall hold the thick clustering stars of our 
confederacy in one glorious constellation for- 
ever ! Let the column which we are about 
to construct be at once a pledge and an 
emblem of perpetual union ! 

Let the foundations be laid, let the super- 
structure be built up and cemented, let each 
stone be raised and riveted in a spirit of 
national brotherhood ! And may the earliest 
ray of the rising sun — till that sun shall set 
to rise no more — draw forth from it daily, as 
from the fabled statue of antiquity, a strain 
of national harmony, which shall strike a re- 
sponsive chord in every heart throughout 
the republic ! 

Proceed, then, fellow-citizens, with the work 
for which you have assembled. Lay the 
corner-stone of a monument which shall ade- 
quately bespeak the gratitude of the whole 
American people to the illustrious father of 
his country ! Build it to the skies ; you can 
r.^-.t outreach the loftiness of his principles! 



Found it upon the massive and eternal rock; 
you can not make it more enduring than his 
fame ! Construct it of the peerless Parian 
marble; you cannot make it purer than his 
life ! Exhaust upon it the rules and principles 
of ancient and of modern art; you cannot 
make it more proportionate than his character. 

But let not your homage to his memory 
end here. Think not to transfer to a tablet 
or a column the tribute which is due from 
yourselves. Just honor to Washington can 
only be rendered by observing his precepts 
and imitating his example. He has built his 
own monument. We, and those who come 
after us, in successive generations, are its 
appointed, its privileged guardians. 

The wide-spread republic is the future 
monument to Washington. Maintain its in- 
dependence. Uphold its constitution. Pre- 
serve its union. Defend its liberty. Let it 
stand before the world in all its original 
strength and beauty, securing peace, order, 
equality, and freedom, to all within its bound- 
aries, and shedding light and hope and joy 
upon the pathway of human liberty through- 
out the world — and Washington needs no 
other monument. Other structures may tes- 
tify our veneration for him ; this, alone can 
adequately illustrate his service to mankind. 

Nor does he need even this. The republic 



ORATIONS BY FAMOUS ORATORS. 



219 



may perish ; the wide arch of our ranged Union 
may fall ; star by star its glories may expire ; 
stone by stone its columns and its capitol may 
moulder and crumble ; all other names v/hich 
adorn its annals may be forgotten ; but as 



long as human hearts shall anywhere ^ant, or 
human tongues anywhere plead, for a true, ra 
tional, constitutional liberty, those hearts shall 
enshrine the memory, and those tongue.-? 
prolong the fame, of George Washington. 



THE NEW WOMAN. 

BY FRANCES E. WILLARD. 

Although it is not customary to include women among orators, an exception must be made in the ca, 
of Miss Willard. Few men have ever possessed her command over popular audiences. Her eloquenct 
drew multitudes to listen to her burning appeals in behalf of the reforms of the day, among whom were 
always many who protested that they " never liked to hear a woman talk in public." 

Miss Willard's remarkable gifts, her zeal and earnestness, and her devotion to her cause, gave her a 
world-wide reputation. This extract from one of her eloquent public addresses is bright in thought, whole- 
some in sentiment, and is a model of effective speech. 

brothers, honor — dear to the hearts that you 
love best. I bring to you this thought, to- 
night, that you shall vote to represent us, and 
hasten the time when we can represent our- 
selves. 

I believe that we are going out into this 
work, being schooled and inspired for greater 
things than we have dreamed, and that the 
army of women will prove the grandest sis- 
terhood the world has ever known. As I 
have seen the love and kindness and good- 
will of women who differed so v/idely from 
us politically and religiously, and yet have 
found away down in the depths of their 
hearts the utmost love and affection, I have 
said, what kind of a world will this be when 
all women are as fond of each other as we 
strong-minded women are ? 

Home is the citadel of everything that is 
good and pure on earth ; nothing must enter 
there to defile, neither anything which loveth 
or maketh a lie And it shall be found that 
all society neeoed to make it altogether 
homelike was the home-folks ; that all gov- 
ernment needed to make it altogether pure 
from the fumes of tobacco and the debasing 
effects of strong drink, was the home-folks ; 
that wherever you put a woman who ha^ the 



• ^Y^ET "s b^ grateful that our horizon is 
I Jl widening. We women have learned 
-L^l^^^^ to reason from effect to cause. It 
is considered a fine sign of a thinker to be 
able to reason from cause to effect. But we, 
in fourteen years* march, have learned to go 
from the drunkard in the gutter, who was 
the object lesson we first saw, back to the 
children, as you will hear to-night ; back to 
the idea of preventive, educational, evangel- 
istic, social, and legal work for temperance ; 
back to the basis of the saloon itself. 

We have found that the liquor traffic is 
joined hand in hand with the very sources of 
the National Government. And we have come 
to the place where we want prohibition, first, 
last, and all the time. While the brewer talks 
about his " vested interests," I lend my voice 
to the motherhood of the nation that has 
gone down into the valley of unutterable pain 
and in the shadow of death, with the dews 
of eternity upon the mother's brow, given 
birth and being to the sons who are the 
" vested interests " of America's homes. 

We offset the demand of the brewer and 
distiller, that you shall protect their ill-gotten 
gains, with the thought of these most sacred 
treasures, dear to the hearts that you. our 



220 



ORATIONS BY FAMOUS ORATORS. 



atmosphere oi home about her, she brings 
in the good time of pleasant and friendly 
relationship, and points with the finger of 
hope and the eye of faith always to some- 
ihing better — always it is better farther on. 

As I look around and see the heavy cloud 
j( apathy under which so many still are 
*tifled, who take no interest in these things, 



I just think they do not half mean the hard 
words that they sometimes speak to us, or 
they wouldn't if they knew; and, after awhile, 
they will have the same views I have, spell 
them with a capital V, and all be harmonious, 
like Barnum's happy family, a splendid men- 
agerie of the whole human race — clear-eyed, 
kind and victorious ! 



AN APPEAL FOR LIBERTY. 

BY JOSEPH STORY. 



I 



I CALL upon you, fathers, by the shades 
of your ancestors — by the dear ashes 
which repose in this precious soil — by 
all you are, and all you hope to be — resist 
every object of disunion, resist every en- 
croachment upon your liberties, resist every 
attempt to fetter your consciences, or smother 
your public schools, or extinguish your sys- 
tem of public instruction. 

I call upon you, mothers, by that which 
never fails in woman, the love of your off- 
spring; teach them, as they climb your 
knees, or lean on your bosoms, the blessings 
of liberty. Swear them at the altar, as with 
their baptism.al vows, to be true to their 
country, and never to forget or forsake her. 
I call upon you, young men, to remember 
whose sons you are ; whose inheritance you 
possess. Life can never be too short, which 
brings nothing but disgrace and oppres- 
sion. Death never comes too soon, if ne- 



THE TRUE SOURCE OF REFORM. 

BY EDWIN H. CHAPIN. 
As a pulpit orator and lecturer Mr. Chapin was widely known and popular. His style was ornate and 
finished, and when to this was added his grand voice and magnetic dehvery, his audiences could not resist 
the charm of his eloquence. His opinions placed him in the front ranks of reformers. 



cessary in defence of the liberties ol" your 
country. 

I call upon you, old men, for your coun- 
sels, and your prayers, and your benedictions. 
May not your gray hairs go down in sorrow 
to the grave, with the recollection that you 
have lived in vain. May not your last sun 
sink in the west upon a nation of slaves. 

No; I read in the destiny of my country far 
better hopes, far brighter visions. We, who are 
now assembled here, must soon be gathered 
to the congregation of other days. The time 
of our departure is at hand, to make way 
for our children upon the theatre of life. May 
God speed them and theirs. May he who, 
at the distance of another century^ shall stand 
here to celebrate this day, still look round 
upon a free, happy, and virtuous people. May 
he have reason to exult as we do. May he, 
with all the enthusiasm of truth as well as of 
poetry, exclaim, that here is still his country. 



(blT'iiE 



^l oi 



HE great element of reform is not born 
of human wisdom, it does not draw 
its hfe from human organizations. I 



find it only in Christianity. *' Thy kingdom 
come!" There is a sublime and pregnant 
burden in this prayer. It is the aspiration 



ORATIONS BY FAMOUS ORATORS. 



221 



of every soul that goes forth in the spirit of 
Reform. For what is the significance of 
this prayer? It is a petition that all holy 
influences would penetrate and subdue and 
dwell in the heart of man, until he shall 
think, and speak, and do good, from the very 
necessity of his being. 

So would the institutions of error and 
wrong crumble and pass away. So would 
sin die out from the earth ; and the human 
soul living in harmony with the Divine 
will, this earth would become like heaven 
It is too late for the reformers to sneer 
at Christianity — it is foolishness for them 
to reject it. In it are enshrined our faith 
in human progress— our confidence in re- 
form It is indissolubly connected with 
all that is hopeful, spiritual, capable, in 
man. 

That men have misunderstood it, and 
perverted it, is true. But it is also true that 
the noblest efforts for human melioration 
have come out of it — have been based upon 
it. Is it not so ? Come, ye remembered 
ones, who sleep the sleep of the just — who 
took your conduct from the line of Christian 
philosophy — come from your tombs, and 
answer ! 

Come, Howard, from the gloom of the 
prison and the taint of the lazar-house, and 



show us what philanthropy can do when 
imbued with the spirit of Jesus. Come, 
Eliot, from the thick forest where the red 
man listens to the Word of Life; — Come, 
Penn, from thy sweet counsel and weapon- 
less victory — and show us what Christian 
zeal and Christian love can accomplish with 
the rudesr barbarians or the fiercest hearts 
Come, Raikes, from thy labors with the 
ignorant and the poor, and show us with 
what an eye this faith regards the lowest 
and least of our race ; and how diligently it 
labors, not for the body, not for the rank, 
but for the plastic soul that is to course the 
ages of immortality. 

And ye, who are a great number — ye 
nameless ones — who have done good in 
your narrow spheres^ content to forego 
renown on earth, and seeking your reward 
in the record on high — come and tell u'\ 
how kindly a spirit, how lofty a purpose, or 
how strong a courage the religion ye pro- 
fessed can breathe into the poor, the hum 
ble, and the weak. Go forth, then, Spirit c .' 
Christianity, to thy great v/ork of Reform ^ 
The past bears witness to thee in the blooc/' 
of thy martyrs, and the ashes of thy saints 
and heroes ; the present is hopeful because 
of thee ; the future shall acknowledge thy 
omnipotence. 



APPEAL TO YOUNG MEN. 

BY LYMAN BEECHER. 

A rather small wiry man with strong face, compact fibre, quick motions, great earnestness and pulpit 
ability of the highest order — this was Lyman Beecher. He made himself especially prominent in the early 
days of the temperance reformation. The selection here given is one of many similar utterances and is full 
of force and fire. 



/'TWOULD I call around me in one vast 
I, Sp assembly the temperate young men 

vi£_,^ of our land, I would say, — Hopes 

of the nation, blessed be ye of 

the Lord now in the dew of your youth. 



But look well to your footsteps ; for vipers, 
and scorpions, and adders surround your 
way. 

Look at the generation who have just pre- 
ceded you : the morning of their life was 



^m 



ORATIONS BY FAMOUS ORATORS. 



cloudless,, and ii dawned as brightly as 
your own ; but behold them bitten, swol- 
len, enfeebled, inflamed^ debauched, idle, 
poor, irreligious, and vicious, with halt- 
ing step dragging onward to meet an 
early grave ! Their bright prospects are 
clouded, and their sun ib set never to rise. 

No house of their own receives them 

» 

while from poorer to poorer tenements 
they descend, and to harder and harder 
fare, as improvidence dries up their re- 
sources. 

And now, who are those that wait on their 
footsteps with muffled faces and sable gar- 
ments? That is a father — and that is a 
mother — whose gray hairs are coming with 
sorrow to the grave* That is a sister, weep- 
ing over evils which she cannot arrest ; 
and there is the broken-hearted wife; and 
there are the children, hapless innocents, 
for whom their father has provided the in 



heritance only of dishonol', and nakedness^ 
and woe. 

And is this, beloved young men, the 
history of your course? In this scene ol 
desolation, do you behold the image of 
your future selves ? Is this the poverty 
and disease which, as an armed man, shall 
take hold on you ? And are your fathers, 
and mothers, and sisters, and wives, and 
children, to succeed to those who now move 
on in this mournful procession, weeping 
as they go ? Yes : bright as your morn- 
ing now opens, and high as your hopes 
beat, this is your noon, and your night, 
unless you shun those habits of intemper- 
ance which have thus early made theirs a 
day of clouds, and of thick darkness. If 
you frequent places of evening resort for 
social drinking; if you set out with drinking, 
daily, a little, temperately, prudently, it is 
yourselves which, as in a glass, you behold. 



THE PILGRIMS, 

BY CHAUNCEY M. DEPEW. 

Mr. Depew is considered one of the foremost of our American orators, and it is enough to say he has 
risen to this distinction in a land noted for the eloquence of its public men. He is an excellent extempora- 
neous speaker, is graceful and easy in manner, fluent in utterance,, and has a touch of humor that renders 
him popular. His tribute to the Pilgrims is worthy of a theme so inspiring. 



w I HEY were practical statesmen, these 
^ I Pilgrims. They wasted no time theo- 
rizing upon methods, but went straight 
at the mark. They solved the Indian prob- 
lem with shot-guns, and it was not General 
Sherman, but Miles Standish, who originated 
the axiom that the only good Indians are the 
dead ones. They were bound by neither 
customs nor traditions, nor committals to 
this or that policy. The only question with 
them was, Docs it work ? The success of 
their Indian experiment led them to try 
similar methods with witches, Quakers and 
Baptists. 



Theii failure taught them the difference 
between mind and matter. A dead savage 
was another wolf under ground, but one of 
themselves persecuted or killed for conscience 
sake sowed the seed of discontent and disbe^ 
lief The effort to wall in a creed and wall 
out liberty was at once abandoned, and to- 
day New England has more religions and 
not less religion, but less bigotry, than any 
other community in the world. 

In an age when dynamite was unknown, 
the Pilgrim invented in the cabin of the May- 
flower the most powerful of explosives. The 
declaration of the equality of all men before 



ORATIONS BV FAMOUS ORATORS. 



228 



the law has rocked thrones and consolidated 
classes. It separated the colonies from Great 
Britain and created the United States. It 
pulverized the chains of the slaves and gave 
manhood suffrage. It devolved upon the 
individual the functions of government and 
made the people the sole source of power. 
It substituted the cap of liberty for the royal 
crown in France, and by a bloodless revolu- 
tion has added to the constellation of Ameri- 
can republics, the star of Brazil. 

But with the ever-varying conditions inci- 
dent to free government, the Puritan's talent 
as a political mathematician will never rust. 
Problems of the utmost importance press 
upon him for solution. When, in the effort 
to regulate the liquor traffic, he has advanced 
beyond the temper of the times and the sen- 



timent of the people in the attempt to enact 
or enforce prohibition, and either been disas- 
trously defeated or the flagrant evasions of 
the statutes have brought the law into con- 
tempt, he does not despair, but tries to find 
the error in his calculation. 

If gubernatorial objections block the way 
of high license he will bombard the executive 
judgment and conscience by a proposition to 
tax. The destruction of homes, the ruin of 
the young, the increase of pauperism and 
crime, the added burdens upon the taxpayers 
by the evils of intemperance, appeal with 
resistless force to his training and traditions. 
As the power of the saloon increases the 
difficulties of the task, he becomes more and 
more certain that some time or other and in 
some way or other he will do that sum too. 



PATRIOTISM A REALITY. 

BY THOMAS FRANCIS MEAGHER. 

All Americans ought to feel kindly disposed toward this eloquent Irish patriot, for he not only risked his 
life in the cause of Irish liberty, but also in our own Civil War. This oration has a rugged strength and 
blunt earnestness quite characteristic of the man. Let it not be delivered in any feeble halting manner, but 
with all your nerve and energy. 




for all. 



IR, the pursuit of liberty must cease 
to be a traffic. It must resume 
among us its ancient glory — be 
with us an active heroism. Once 
sir, we must have an end of this 
money making in the public forum. We 
must ennoble the strife for liberty; make it a 
gallant sacrifice, not a vulgar game; rescue 
the cause of Ireland from the profanation of 
those who beg, and from the control of those 
who bribe ! 

Ah ! trust not those dull philosophers of 
the age, those wretched sceptics, who, to re- 
buke our enthusiasm, our folly, would per- 
suade us that patriotism is but a delusion, a 
dream of youth, a wild and glittering passion; 
that it has died out in this nineteenth century; 



that it cannot exist with our advanced civili- 
zation—with the steam-engine and free trade! 

False — false ! — The virtue that gave to 
Paganism its dazzling lustre, to Barbarism its 
redeeming trait, to Christianity its heroic 
form, is not dead. It still lives, to preserve, 
to console, to sanctify humanity. It has its 
altar in every clime — its worship and festivi- 
ties. On the heathered hills of Scotland, the 
sword of Wallace is yet a bright tradition. 
The genius of France, in the brilliant litera- 
ture of the day, pays its high homage to the 
piety and heroism of the young Maid of 
Orleans. 

In her new senate hall, England bids her 
sculptor place among the effigies of her 
greatest sons the images of Hampden and 



224 



ORATIONS BY FAMOUS ORATORS. 



of Russell. By the soft blue waters of Lake 
Lucerne stands the chapel of William Tell. 
At Innsbruck, in the black aisle of the old 
cathedral, the peasant of the Tyrol kneels 
before the statue of Andrew Hofer. In the 
great American republic — in that capital city 
which bears his name — rises the monument 
of the Father of his country. 

Sir, shall we not join in this glorious hom- 
age, and here in this island, consecrated by 
the blood of many a good and gallant man, 
shall we not have the faith, the duties, the 
festivities, of patriotism? You discard the 



weapons of these heroic men — do not discard 
the virtues. Elevate the national character ; 
confront corruption wherever it appears ; 
scourge it from the hustings ; scourge it 
from the public forum; and, whilst proceed- 
ing with the noble task to which you have 
devoted your lives and fortunes^ let this 
thought enrapture and invigorate your hearts : 
That in seeking the independence of your 
country, you have preserved her virtue — 
preserved it at once from the seductions of a 
powerful minister, and from the infidelity of 
bad citizens. 



'y-^==sx^^e 



THE QLORY OF ATHENS. 

BY LORD MACAULAY. 
As a historian Macaulay has a world-wide reputation. As a poet he takes high rank. 



H 



As an orator 

his speeches are characterized by lofty thought, felicitious language and the most elaborate style. I would 
call him a graceful giant. The last paragraph of the following selection in which he predicts the final decay 
of England, has created an endless amount of comment and criticism. Concerning the beauty and grandeur 
of this selection from his writmgs, there can be but one opinion. 




LL the triumphs of truth and genius 
over prejudice and power, in every 
country and in every age, have 
been the triumphs of Athens. 
Whenever a few great minds have made a 
stand against violence and fraud, in the cause 
of liberty and reason, there has been her 
spirit in the midst of them ; inspiring, en- 
couraging, and consoling. It stood by the 
lonely lamp of Erasmus ; by the restless bed 
of Pascal ; in the tribune of Mirabeau ; in 
the cell of Galileo; on the scaffold of Sidney. 
But who shall estimate her influence on 
private happiness ? Who shall say how 
many thousands have been made wiser, hap- 
pier, and better, by those pursuits in which 
she has taught mankind to engage ; to how 
many the studies which took their rise from 
her have been wealth in poverty; liberty in 
bondage; health in sickness; society in soli- 
t!,clc. Her power is indeed manifested at the 



bar, in the senate ; in the field of battle, in 
the schools of philosophy. 

But these are not her glory. Surely it is no 
exaggeration to say, that no external advan- 
tage is to be compared with that purification 
of the intellectual eye, which gives us to con- 
template the infinite wealth of the mental 
world ; all the hoarded treasures of the pri- 
meval dynasties, all the shapeless ore of the 
yet unexplored mines. 

This is the gift of Athens to man. Her 
freedom and her power have for more than 
twenty centuries been annihilated. Her peo- 
ple have degenerated into timid slaves ; her 
language, into a barbarous jargon. Hei 
temples have been given up to the successive 
depredations of Romans, Turks, and Scotch- 
men ; but her intellectual empire is imperish- 
able, e 

And, when those who have rivaled her 
greatness, shall have shared her fate ; when 



ORATIONS BY FAMOUS ORATORS. 



22i 



civilization and knowledge shall have fixed 
their abode in distant continents; when the 
sceptre shall have passed away from England ; 
when, perhaps, travelers from distant regions 
shall in vain labor to decipher on some moul- 
dering pedestal the name of our proudest 
chief; and shall see a single naked fisherman 



wash his nets in the river of tne ten thousand 
masts; her influence and her glory will still 
survive, fresh in eternal youth, exempt from 
mutability and decay, immortal as the intel- 
lectual principle from which they derived 
their origin, and over which they exercise 
their control. 



THE IRISH CHURCH. 

BY WILLIAM E. GLADSTONE. 

No man in England, or in fact in the whole world, has gained so high a distinction in modern 
times for statesmanship and eloquence as Mr. Gladstone. Possessed of vast resources of brain and 
culture, a remarkable command of language, an iron will and an enthusiasm in behalf of every cause 
he espoused that was checked by no opposition, the " Grand Old Man,'' as he was called, was the most 
majestic and commanding figure in English pohtics and literature for a generation. His oration on the 
Irish Church is a good specimen of his impassioned oratory. 

(^F we are prudent men, I hope we shall 
N I endeavor as far as in us lies to make 
alL some provision for a contingent, a 
doubtful, and probably a dangerous future. 
If we be chivalrous men, I trust we shall en- 
deavor to wipe away all those stains which 
the civilized world has for ages seen, or 
seemed to see, on the shield of England in 
her treatment of Ireland. If we be compas- 
sionate men, I hope we shall now, once for 
all, listen to the tale of woe which comes 
from her, and the reality of which, if not its 
justice, is testified by the continuous emigra- 
tion of her people— that we shall endeavor 
to— 

" Pluck from her memory a rooted sorrow. 
And raze the written troubles from her brain." 

But, above all, if we be just men, we shall go 
forward in the name of truth and right, bear- 
ing this in mind — that, when the case is 
proved and the hour is come, justice delayed 
is justice denied. 

There are many who think that to lay 

hands upon the national Church Establish- 

»nent of a country is a profane and unhal- 

owed act. I respect that feeling. I sym- 

15- 'c) 



pathize with it. I sympathize with it while 
I think it my duty to overcome and repress 
it. But if it be an error, it is an error enti- 
tled to respect. There is something in the 
idea of a national establishment of religion, 
of a solemn appropriation of a part of the 
Commonwealth for conferring upon all who 
are ready to receive it what we know to be 
an inestimable benefit; of saving that portion 
of the inheritance from private selfishness, in 
order to extract from it, if we can, pure and 
unmixed advantages of the highest order for 
the population at large. 

There is something in this so attractive 
that it is an image that must always com- 
mand the homage of the many. It is some- 
what like the kingly ghost in Hamlet, o\ 
which one of the characters of Shakespeare 
says : — 

" We do it wrong, being so majestical, 
To offer it the show of violence ; 
For it is, as the air, invulnerable, 
And our vain blows mahcious mockery '' 

But, sir, this is to view a religious estab- 
lishment upon one side, only upon what I 
may call the ethereal side. It has likewise 



226 



ORATIONS BY FAMOUS ORATORS. 



a side of earth ; and here I cannot do better 
than quote some hnes written by the Arch- 
bishop of DubHn, at a time when his genius 
was devoted to the muses. He said, in 
speaking of mankind : 

" We who did our lineage high 
Draw from beyond the starry sky, 
Are yet upon the other side, 
To earth and to its dust aUied." 

And so the Church Estabhshment, re- 
garded in its theory and in its aim, is beau- 
tiful and attractive. Yet what is it but an 
appropriation of pubHc property, an appro- 
priation of the fruits of labor and of skill to 
certain purposes, and unless these purposes 
are fulfilled, that appropriation cannot be 
justified. Therefore, Sir, I cannot but feel 
that we must set aside fears which thrust 
themselves upon the imagination, and act 
upon the sober dictates of our judgment. 

I think it has been shown that the cause 
for action is strong — not for precipitate ac- 
tion, not for action beyond our powers, but 
for such action as the opportunities of the 



times and the condition of Parliament, if noble fabric of the British empire. 



there be but a ready will, will amply and 
easily admit of. If I am asked as to my ex- 
pectations of the issue of this struggle, I 
begin frankly by avowing that I, for one, 
would not have entered into it unless I be- 
lieved that the final hour was about to sound. 

And I hope that the noble lord will for- 
give me if I say that before Friday last I 
thought that the thread of the remaining life 
of the Irish Established Church was short, 
but that since Friday last, when at half-past 
four o'clock in the afternoon the noble lord 
stood at that table, I have regarded it as being 
shorter still. The issue is not in our hands. 

What we had and have to do is to con- 
sider well and deeply before we take the first 
step in an engagement such as this ; but 
having entered into the controversy, there 
and then to acquit ourselves like men, and 
to use every effort to remove what still re- 
mains of the scandals and calamities in the 
relations which exist between England and 
Ireland, and use our best efforts at least to 
fill up with the cement of human concord the 



^®v><^«^ 



APPEAL TO THE HUNGARIANS. 

BY LOUIS KOSSUTH. 

The eminent Hungarian orator and statesman, whose name for a whole generation stood for liberty, 
visited our country in his early manhood and received an ovation wherever he went. His progress 
was a triumphal march. This was due not merely to the fact that he was exerting all his energies to 
liberate his country, but his reception was a tribute to his brilliant genius and overpowering eloquence. 
Kossuth was one of the most remarkable orators of modern times. The following selection is a fine 
illustration of his impassioned, burning eloquence. 




UR fatherland is in danger. Citizens 
of the fatherland ! To arms ! To 
arms ! If we believed the country 
could be saved by ordinary means, we would 
not cry that it is in danger. If we stood at 
the head of a cowardly, childish nation, 
which, in the hour of peril, prefers defeat to 
defence, we would not sound the alarm-bell. 



But because we know that the people of our 
land compose a manly nation, determined to 
defend itself against oppression, we call out 
in the loudest voice, '' Our fatherland is in 
danger ! " Because we are sure that the na- 
tion is able to defend its hearths and homes, 
we announce the peril in all its magnitude, 
and appeal to our brethren, in the name of 



ORATIONS BY FAMOUS ORATORS. 



227 



U 



God and their country, to look the danger 
boldly in the face. 

We will not smile and flatter. We say it 
plainly, that unless the nation rise, to a man, 
prepared to shed the last drop of blood, all 
our previous struggles will have been in vain. 
The noble blood that has flowed like water, 
will have been wasted. Our fatherland will be 
crushed to the earth. On the soil, where 
rest the ashes of our ancestors, the Russian 
knout will be wielded over a people reduced 
beneath the yoke of slavery. 

If we wish to shut our eyes to the danger, 
we shall thereby save no one from its power. 
If we represent the matter as it is, we make 
our country master of its own fate. If the 
breath of life is in our people, they will save 
themselves and their fatherland. But, if 
paralyzed by coward fear, they remain supine, 
all will be lost. God will help no man who 
does not help himself. We tell you that the 
Austrian Emperor sends the hordes of Rus- 
sian barbarians for your destruction. 

People of Hungary! Would you die under 
the destroying sword of the barbarous Rus- 



sians ? If not, defend your own lives ! Would 
you see the Cossacks of the distant north 
trampling under foot the dishonored bodies 
of your fathers, your wives, and your chil- 
dren ? Knot, defend yourselves! Do you 
wish that your fellow-countrymen should be 
dragged away to Siberia, or should fight for 
tyrants in a foreign land, or writhe in slavery 
beneath a Russian scourge? If not, defend 
yourselves ! Would you see your villages in 
flames, and your harvest-fields in ruins ? 
Would you die of hunger on the soil which 
you have cultivated with sweat and blood ? 
If not, defend yourselves ! 

This strife is not a strife between two hos- 
tile camps, but a war of tyranny against free- 
dom, of barbarians against the collectii^e 
might of a free nation. Therefore must the 
whole people arise with the army. If these 
millions sustain our army, we have gained 
freedom and victory for universal Europe, as 
well as for ourselves. Therefore, O strong, 
gigantic people, unite with the army, and rush 
to the conflict. Ho ! every freeman ! To arms! 
To arms ! Thus alone is victory certain. 



THE TYRANT VERRES DENOUNCED. 

BY CICERO. 

This oration is inserted here to furnish an example of the style of the great Roman orator whose elo- 
quence has been proverbial from his time to the present. His patriotic utterances should stir the blood ol 
the reciter, and if they do this his hearers will share the inspiration. 




N opinion has long prevailed, fathers, 
that, in public prosecutions, men of 
wealth, however clearly convicted, 
are always safe. This opinion, so injurious 
to your order, so detrimental to the state, it 
is now in your power to refute. A man is 
on trial before you who is rich, and he hopes 
his riches will compass his acquittal; but 
whose life and actions are his sufficient con- 
demnation in the eyes of all candid men. I 
speak of Caius Verres, who, if he now receive 



not the sentence his crimes deserve, it shall 
not be through the lack of a criminal or of a 
prosecutor, but through the failure of the 
ministers of justice to do their duty. 

Passing over the shameful irregularities of 
his youth, what does the quaestorship of 
Verres exhibit but one continued scene of 
villanies ? The public treasure squandered, 
a consul stripped and betrayed, an army 
deserted and reduced to want, a province 
robbed, the civil and religious rights of a 



228 



ORATIONS BY FAMOUS ORATORS. 



people trampled on ! But his praetorship in 
Sicily has crowned his career of wickedness, 
and completed the lasting monument of his 
infamy. His decisions have violated all law, 
all precedent, all right. His extortions from 
the industrious poor have been beyond com- 
putation. Our most faithful allies have been 
treated as enemies. Roman citizens have, 
like slaves, been put to death with tortures. 
Men the most worthy have been condemned 
and banished without a hearing, while the 
most atrocious criminals have, with money, 
purchased exemption from the punishment 
due to their guilt. 

I ask now, Verres, what have you to 
advance against these charges ? Art thou 
not the tyrant Praetor, who, at no greater 
distance than Sicily, within sight of the Ital- 
ian coast, dared to put to an infamous 
death, on the cross, that ill-fated and inno- 
cent citizen^ Publius Gavius Cosanus ? 
And what was his offence? He had de- 
clared his intention of appealing to the 
justice of his country against your brutal 
persecutions ! 

For this, when about to embark for home, 
he was seized, brought before you, charged 
with being a spy, scourged and tortured. In 
vain did he exclaim : " I am a Roman citi- 
zen! I have served under Lucius Pretius, 



who is now at Panormus, and who will attest 
my innocence ! " Deaf to all remonstrance, 
remorseless, thirsting for innocent blood, you 
ordered the savage punishment to be in- 
flicted ! While the sacred words, ''I am a 
Roman citizen," were on his lips — words 
which, in the remotest regions, are a pass- 
port to protection — you ordered him to death 
—to a death upon the cross ! 

O liberty ! O sound once delightful to 
every Roman ear! O sacred privilege of 
Roman citizenship ! once sacred — now tram- 
pled on ! Is it come to this ? Shall an in- 
ferior magistrate— a governor, who holds his 
whole power of the Roman people — in a 
Roman province, within sight of Italy, bind, 
scourge, torture, and put to an infamous death, 
a Roman citizen ? Shall neither the cnes 
of innocence expiring in agony, the tears of 
pitying spectators, the majesty of the Roman 
commonwealth, nor the fear of the justice of 
his country, restrain the merciless monster, 
who, in the confidence of his riches, strikes 
at the very root of liberty, and sets mankind 
at defiance? And shall this man escape? 
Fathers, it must not be ! It must not be un- 
less you would undermine the very founda- 
tions of social safety, strangle justice, and 
call down anarchy, massacre, and ruin on the 
commonwealth. 



Humorous Recitations. 



A recitation that Has a touch of humor, 
:>ne that is quaint and droll, one that has 
comical situations, or one that hits off any- 
popular absurdity, is sure to be well received 
by your audience. A school exhibition or an 
evening's entertainment without something of 
this kind would be pronounced dull and dry. 

Some readers are especially adapted to re- 
citals of this description. They have an in- 



nate sense of the ludicrous and are able to 
convey it by voice and manner. Those who 
are not favored with the very desirable gift 
of humor should confine themselves to selec* 
tions of a graver character. The department 
of Wit and Humor here presented is large 
and complete, containing a great variety of 
readings that cannot fail to be enthusiasti- 
cally received when properly rendered. 



BILL'S IN TROUBLE 1 



I'VE got a letter, parson, from my son away 
out West, 
An' my ol' heart is heavy as an anvil in 
my breast. 
To think the boy whose futur' I had once so 

proudly planned 
Should wander from the path o' right an' come 
to sich an end ! 

Bill made a faithful promise to be keerful, an' 

allowed 
He'd build a reputation that'd make us mighty 

proud, 
But it seems as how my counsel sort o' faded 

from his mind, 
An' now the boy's in trouble o' the very wustest 

kindl 



His letters came so seldom that 1 somehow sort 

o' knowed 
That Billy was a-trampin' on a mighty rocky 

road, 
But never once imagined he would bow my head 

in shame. 
An' in the dust'd waller his ol' daddy's honored 

name. 

He writes from out in Denver, an' the story's 

mighty short ; 
I just can't tell his mother ; it'll crush her poor 

o'l heart ! 
An' so I reckoned, parson, you might break the 

news to her — 
Bill's in the Legislatur, but he doesn't say what 

fur. 



" 5PACIALLY JIM." 



I 



WUS mighty good-lookin' when I was 
young, 
Peert an' black -eyed an' slim, 
With fellers a courtin' me Sunday nights, 
'Spacially Jim. 



The likeliest one of 'em all was he, 
Chipper an' han'som' an' trim, 
But I tossed up my head an' made fun o' the 
crowd, 
'Spacially Jim 1 

229 



230 



HUMOROUS RECITATIONS. 



I said I hadn't no 'pinion o' men, 
An' I wouldn't take stock in him I 

But they kep' up a-comin' in spite o* my talk, 
'Spacially Jim ! 



I got so tired o' havin' 
('Spacially Jim !) 



em roun 



I made up my mind Vd settle down 
An' take up with him. 

So we was married one Sunday in church, 
'Twas crowded full to the brim ; 

'Twas the only way to get rid of 'em all, 
'Spacially Jim. 



THE MARRIAGE CEREMONY, 



Be careful, in all dialect recitations, to enunciate as 
brought out in the accent, and you should study this until 

tOU promise now, you goot man dere, 
Vot shtunds upon de floor, 
To take dis woman for your vrow, 
And luff her efermore ; 
You'll feed her well on sauerkraut, 

Beans, buttermilk and cheese, 
And in all dings to lend your aid 
Vot vill promote her ease ? 



-Yah I 



Yes, and you, good voman, too — 
Do you pledge your vord dis day 

Dat you vill take dis husband here 
And mit him alvays shtay ? 

Dat you vill bet and board mit him, 
Vash, iron and mend his clothes ; 



the piece requires. A good part of the humor is 
you are master of it. 

Laugh when he schmiles, veep when he sighs, 
Und share his joys and voes ? 

—Yah I 
Vel, den, mitin these sacred halls, 

Mit joy and not mit grief, 
I do bronounce you man and vifc ; 

Von name, von home, von beef 1 
I publish now dese sacred bonts, 

Dese matrimonial dies. 
Before mine Got, mine vrow, minezelf 

Und all dese gazing eyes. 

Und now, you pridegroom standing dere, 

I'll not let go yoz collar 
Undil you dell me one ding more, 

Dat ish : vere ish mine tollar ? 



BLASTED HOPES. 




E said good-bye ! My lips to hers were 
pressed. 
We looked into each other's eyes and 
sighed ; 
I pressed the maiden fondly to my breast. 
And went my way across the foamy tide. 

I stood upon the spot where Caesar fell, 

I mused l)eside the great Napoleon's tomb; 

I loitered where dark-visaged houris dwell, 
And saw the fabled lotus land abloom. 

I heard Parisian revelers, and so 

Forgot tlie maiden who had wept for me ; 

I saw my face reflected in the Po, 
And saw Italian suns sink in the se^. 



Aweary of it all, at last, I turned 

My face back to my glorious native land ; 

I thought of her again — my bosom burned— 
And joyfully I left the ancient strand. 

At last, I held her little hand again, 

But, oh, the seasons had kept rolling on, 

I did not stroke her head or kiss her then — 
Another had appeared while I was gone. 

I'd brought her trinkets from across the sea— 
Ah, well ! she shall not have them now, o* 
course ; 

Alas ! the only thing that's left for me 
Is to give her little buy a hobby horse I 



HUMOROUS RECITATIONS. 



231 



I 



TIM MURPHY MAKES A FEW REMARKS. 

A good specimen of the Irish brogue and wit. 



SAW Teddy Reagan the other day ; he 
told me he had been dealing in hogs. 
QJJL '' Is business good ?" says I. " Yis/' 
says he. '' Talking about hogs, Teddy, how 
do you find yourself?" sez I. I wint to buy 
a clock the other day, to make a present to 
Mary Jane. " Will you have a Frinch clock ?" 
says the jeweler. '' The deuce take your 
Frinch clock," sez I. ** I want a clock that 
my sister can understand when it strikes." 
"I have a Dutch clock," sez he, "an' you 
kin put that on the shtairs." " It might run 
down if I put it there," sez I. "Well," sez 
he, " here's a Yankee clock, with a lookin'- 
glass in the front, so that you can see your- 
self," sez he. " It's too ugly," sez I. ''Thin 
I'll take the lookin'-glass out, an' whin you 
look at it you'll not find it so ugly," sez 
he. 

I wint to Chatham Sthreet to buy a shirt, 
for the one I had on was a thrifle soiled. The 
Jew who kept the sthore looked at my bosom, 
an said: " So hellup me gracious! how long 
do you vear a shirt ?" " Twinty-eight inches," 
sez I. *' Have you any fine shirts ?" sez I. 
" Yis," sez he. " Are they clane ?'' says I. 



" Yis," sez he. " Thin you had better put 
one on," sez I. 

You may talk about bringin' up childer in 
the way they should go, but I believe in 
bringing them up by the hair of the head. 
Talking about bringing up childer — I hear 
my childer's prayers every night The other 
night I let thim up to bed without thim. I 
skipped and sthood behind the door. I heard 
the big boy say : '^ Give us this day our daily 
bread." The little fellow said: "Sthrike him 
for pie, Johnny." I have one of the most 
economical boys in the Citty of New York ; 
he hasn't spint one cint for the last two years. 
I am expecting him down from Sing Sing 
prison next week. 

Talking about boys, I have a nephew who, 
five years ago, couldn't write a word. Last 
week he wrote his name for ;^ 10,000; he'll 
git tin years in the pinatintiary. I can't 
write, but I threw a brick at a policeman 
and made my mark. 

They had a fight at Tim Owen*s wake last 
week. Mary Jane was there. She says, barrin' 
herself, there was only one whole nose left in 
the party, an' that belonged to the tay-kettle. 



PASSING OF THE HORSE. 



I DROVE my old horse, Dobbin, full slowly 
toward the town, 
One beautiful spring morning. The rising 
sun looked down 
And saw us slowly jogging and drinking in the 

balm 
Of honeyed breath of clover fields. We lissed, 

in Nature's calm, 
To chirping squirrel, and whistling bird, the robin 

and the wren ; 
The sound of life and love and peace came o'er 
the fields again. 



'Way back behind the wagon there came a tan- 
dem bike, 

A pedaling 'long to beat the wind, I never saw 
the like. 

They started by — the road was wide, old Dobbin 
feeling good. 

The quiet calmness of the morn had livened up 
his mood, 

And stretching out adown the road he chased 
these cyclers two. 

And Dobbin in his younger days was distanced 
by but few? 



232 



HUMOROUS RECITATIONS. 



We sped along about a mile, it was a merry chase, 

But Dobbin gave it up at last, and, dropping from 
the race, 

He looked at me, as if to say: '^ Old man, I'm 
in disgrace. 

The horse is surely passing by, the bike has got 
his place " 

And all that day, while in the town, old Dob- 
bin's spirits fell ; 

His stout old pride was broken sure ; the reason 
I could tell. 



But when that night we trotted back from town, 
below the hill 

We met two weary cyclers who waved at us a bill 

That had a big V on it, and said it would be 
mine 

If I would let them ride with us and put their bike 
behind, 

And so I whistled softly ; and Dobbin winked at 
me, 

" I guess the horse will stay, old man ; he's punc- 
ture proof — you see ?' ' 



A SCHOOL=DAY, 




Don't overdo the whimpering and crying, but make 
one in tears. Make use of a handkerchief to render the 
,0W, John," the district teacher says 
With frown that scarce can hide 

The dimpling smiles around her 
mouth, 
Where Cupid's hosts abide, 
"What have you done to Mary Ann, 
That she is crying so ? 
Don't say 'twas 'nothing ' — don't, I say, 
For, John, that can't be so ; 

*'For Mary Ann would never cry 

At nothing, I am sure ; 
And if you've wounded justice, John, 

You know the only cure 
Is punishment ! So, come, stand up ; 

Transgression must abide 
The pain attendant on the scheme 

That makes it justified." 

So John steps forth with sun-burnt face, 

And hair all in a tumble, 
His laughing eyes a contrast to 

His drooping mouth so humble. 
"Now, Mary, you must tell me all — 

I see that John will not, 
And if he's been unkind or rude, 

I'll whip him on the spot." 

" W — we were p — playin' p — pris'ner'sb— base. 
An' h — he is s — such a t — tease, 
\n' w — when I w — wasn't 1 — lookin', m — 
ma'am' 
H — he k— kissed me — if you please. ' ' 



the facial expressions and imitate the sobbing of 
imitation more effective. 

Upon the teacher^s face the smiles 
Have triumphed o'er the frown, 

A pleasant thought runs through her mind, 
The stick comes harmless down. 

But outraged law must be avenged ! 

Begone, ye smiles, begone ! 
Away, ye little dreams of love, 

Come on, ye frowns, come on ! 
"I think I'll have to whip you, John, 

Such conduct breaks the rule ; 
No boy, except a naughty one, 

Would kiss a girl — at school." 

Again the teacher's rod is raised, 

A Nemesis she stands — 
A premium were put on sin, 

If punished by such hands ! 
As when the bee explores the rose 

We see the petals tremble, 
So trembled Mary's rosebud lips — 

Her heart would not dissemble. 

"I wouldn't whip him very hard" — 

The stick stops in its fall — 
"It wasn't right to do it, but — 

It didn't hurt at all ! " 
"What made you cry, then, Mary Ann?** 

The school's noise makes a pause, 
And out upon the listening air. 

From Mary comes — " Because ! " 

W. F. McSparrais-, 



HUMOROUS RECITATIONS. 



233 



THE BICYCLE AND THE PUP. 




IS a bicycle man, over his broken wheel, 
That grieveth himself full sore. 
For the joy of its newness his heart shall 
f feel, 

Alack and alas ! no more. 

When the bright sun tippeth the hills with gold. 

That rider upriseth gay, 
And with hat all beribboned and heart that is 
bold, 

Pufsueth his jaunty way. 

He gazeth at folks in the lowly crowd 

With a most superior air. 
He thinketh ha ! ha ! and he smileth aloud 

As he masheth the maiden fair. 



Oh, he masheth her much in his nice new clothe:^ 

Nor seeth the cheerful pup, 
Till he roots up the road with his proud, proud 
nose, 

While the little wheel tilteth up. 

Oh, that youth on his knees — though he doth 
not pray — 

Is a pitiful sight to see, 
For his pants in their utterest part give way, 

While merrily laugheth she. 

And that bicycle man in his heart doth feel 
That the worst of unsanctified jokes 

Is the small dog that sniffeth anon at his wheel. 
But getteth mixed up in the spokes. 



THE PUZZLED CENSUS TAKER. 

Before reciting this state to your audience that "' nein " is the German for " no* " 




^) OT any boys? " the marshal said, 
^ I ■ To a lady from over the Rhine ; 
And the lady shook her flaxen head. 
And civilly answered '' nein ! " 

•'Got any girls? " the marshal said. 
To that lady from over the Rhine ; 
And again the lady shook her head, 
And civilly answered " nein ! " 

'*But some are dead," the marshal said 
To the lady from over the Rhine ; 
And again the lady shook her head. 
And civilly answered " nein ! " 



'Husband, of course ? " the marshal said 

To the lady from over the Rhine ; 
And again she shook her flaxen head, 
And civilly answered " nein ! " 

' The duce you have ! ' ' the marshal said 

To the lady from over the Rhine; 
And again she shook her flaxen head, 
And civilly answered '^ nein ! " 

' Now what do you m^ean by shaking your heac 

And always answering *'nein?" 
' Ich kann nicht Englisch," civilly said 
' The lady from over the Rhine. 



@^^<Y®e 



IT MADE A DIFFERENCE. 




,0W, then," said the short and fat 
and anxious-looking man as he 
}p V_^ sat down in the street car and 
unfolded a map he had just 
Dought of a fakir. ** I want to know how 
this old thing works. Let me first find the 
Ph:!! opine Islands and Manila. Here I am, 
and here is Ca-vitt." 



" I beg your pardon, sir," said the man on 
his left, " but that name is pronounced Kah- 
vee-tay." 

"Then why ain't it spelled that way?" 
demanded the .short and fat man. " No 
wonder Dooye has been left there a whole 
month without reinforcements when they 
mix up things that way," 



234 



HUMOROUS RECITATIONS. 



*' You mean Dewey," corrected the man 
on his right. 

*' I heard it called Dooye, sir." 

" But it isn't right." 

" Then why don't this map give it right ? 
Is it the plan of our map-makers to bam- 
boozle the American patriot? Let us turn 
to Cuba. Ah ! here is that San Jew-an they 
are talking so much about." 

" Will you allow me to say that the name 
is pronounced San Wan?" softly observed 
the man on the left. 

" By whom, sir?" 

" By everybody." 

" I deny it, sir ! " exclaimed the fat man. 
" If J-u-a-n don^t spell * Juan ' then I can't 
read. If I am wrong then why don't this 
map set me right ? Is it the idea to mix up 
the American patriot until he can't tell 
whether he's in Cuba or the United States ? " 

''Where is that Ci-en-fue-gos I've read 
about?" 

" Do you wish for the correct pronuncia- 
tion of that name ? ^^ asked a man on the 
other side of the car. 

"Haven't I got it?" 



" Not exactly, sir." 

" Then let her slide. The men who got 
out this map ought to be indicted for swind- 
ling. Maybe I'm wrong in calling it Ma- 
tan-zas ? " 

" It is hardly correct, sir." 

"And I'm off on Por-to Ri-co?" 

" just a little off" 

" That settles it, sir — that settles it ! " said 
the short man as he folded up the map and 
tossed it away on the street. " I had a 
grandfather in the Revolutionary War, a 
father in the war with Mexico, and two 
brothers in the late Civil War, and I was 
going to offer my services to Uncle Sam in 
this emergency; but it's off, sir — all off." 

"But what difference does the pronuncia- 
tion make ?" protested the man on the right. 

"All the difference in the world, sir. My 
wife is tongue-tied and my only child has 
got a hair-lip, and if I should get killed 
neither one of them would be able to ever 
make any one understand whether I poured 
out my blood in a battle in Cuba or was run 
over by an ice-wagon in front of my own 
house ! " 



BRIDGET O'FLANNAQAN ON CHRISTIAN SCIENCE AND 

COCKROACHES. 




CH, Mollie Moriarty, I've been havin' 
the quare iksparyincis since yiz hur- 
rud from me, an' if I'd known how 
it wud be whin I lift ould Oireland, I'd nivir 
have sit fut intil this coonthry befoor landin'. 
Me prisint misthriss that I had befoor the 
lasht wan is a discoiple av a new koind av 
rclijun called Christian Soience. She's been 
afthur takin' a sooccission av coorsis av cool- 
chur (I belave that's fwhat they call it), an' 
she knows all aboot this Christian Soience. 

I've hurrud her talkin' wid the other ladies 
About moind an' matther, an' as will as I can 



undherstand. Christian Soience manes that 
iverything is all moind an' no matther, or all 
matther an' nivir moind, an' that ivery wan's 
nobody, an' iverything's nothing ilse. The 
misthriss ses there's no disase nor trooble, 
an' no nade av physic ; nivirthiliss, whin she 
dishcoovered cockroaches intil the panthry, 
she sint me out wid the money to buy an 
iksterminatin' powdher. 9 

Thinks I to mesilf, " I'll give thim roaches 
a dose av Christian Soience, or fwhat the 
ladies call an ' absint thratemint.' " So I 
fixed the powers av me naoind on the mid- 



HUMOROUS RECITATIONS. 



235 



dlesoom craythers an* shpint the money till 
me own binifit. Afther a few days the mis- 
thriss goes intil the panthry, an' foinds thim 
roaches roonin* 'round as if they'd nivir been 
kilt at all. I throied to iksplain, but wid the 
inconsishtency av her six she wouldn't listhin 
tfll a worrud, but ses I was addin' imperti- 



nince to desaving'. So I'm afther lookin' 
fur a place, an' if yiz know av any lady wid- 
out notions that do be bewildherin' to me 
moind, address, 

Miss Bridget O'Flannagan, 

Post Office, Ameriky, 

M. BOURCHIER. 



CONVERSATIONAL, 




OW'S your father?" Came the whis- 
per, 
Bashful Ned the silence break- 
ing ; 

** Oh, he's nicely," Annie murmured, 
Smilingly the question taking. 

Conversation flagged a moment, 



Hopeless, Ned essayed another ; 
" Annie, I — I," then a coughing, 

And the question, " How's your mother ! ' 

" Mother? Oh, she's doing nicely! " 
Fleeting fast was all forbearance, 
When in low, despairing accents 

Came the climax, " How's your parents? '' 






WANTED, A MINISTER'S WIFE. 



ANTED, a perfect lady. 
Delicate, gentle, refined. 
With every beauty of person 
And every endowment of mind ; 
Fitted by early culture 

To move in a fashionable life. 

Please notice our advertisement ; 

"Wanted, a minister's wife.'* 

Wanted, a thoroughbred worker, 

Who well to her household looks 
(Shall we see our money wasted 

By extravagant, stupid cooks?) 
Who cuts the daily expenses 

With economy as sharp as a knife. 
And washes and scrubs in the kitchen. 

" Wanted, a minister's wife.'* 

A very domestic person. 

To " callers" she must not be " out;' 
It has such a bad appearance 

For her to be gadding about. 
Only to visit the parish 

Every day of her life, 
And attend the funerals and weddings. 

'* Wanted, a minister's wife.'* 



Conduct the ladies' meeting. 

The sewing-circle attend , 
And when we work for the needy, 

Her ready assistance to lend. 
To clothe the destitute children 

Where sorrow and want are rife ; 
To hunt up Sunday-school scholars. 

" Wanted, a minister's wife." 

Careful to entertain strangers, 

Traveling agents, and " such ; ** 
Of this kind of " angel visits" 

The leaders have had so much 
As to prove a perfect nuisance. 

And " hope these plagues of their life 
Can soon be sent to their parson's." 

" Wanted, a minister's wife." 

A perfect pattern of prudence 

To all others, spending less. 
But never disgracing the parish 

By looking shabby in dress. 
Playing the organ on Sunday 

Would aid our laudable strife 
To save the society's money. 

" Wanted^ a minister's wife," 



236 



HUMOROUS RECITATIONS. 



HOW A MARRIED MAN SEWS ON A BUTTON, 



is bad enough to see a bachelor sew 
on a button, but he is the embodiment 
of grace alongside a married man. 
Necessity has compelled experience in the 
case of the former, but the latter has de- 
pended upon some one else for this service, 
and fortunately for the sake of society, it is 
rarely he is obliged to resort to the needle him- 
self Sometimes the patient wife scalds her 
right hand, or runs a sliver under the nail of 
the index finger of that hand, and it is then the 
man clutches the needle around the neck, 
and, forgetting to tie a knot on the thread, 
commences to put on the button. 

It is always in the morning, and from five 
to twenty minutes after this he is expected 
to be down street. He lays the button on 
exactly the site of its predec'essor, and pushes 
the needle through one eye, and carefully 
draws the threa*"'. after, leaving about three 
inches of it sticking up for leeway. He says 
to himself, " Well, if women don't have the 
easiest time I ever see.'' 

Then he comes back the other way and 
gets the needle through the cloth easy 
enough, and lays himself out to find the eye, 
but, in spite of a great deal of patient jabbing, 
the needle point persists in bucking against 
the solid parts of the button, and finally, 
when he loses patience, his fingers catch the 
thread, and that three inches he has left to 



hold the button slips through the eye in a 
twinkling, and the button rolls leisurely 
across the floor. He picks it up without a 
single remark, out of respect for his chil- 
dren, and makes another attempt to fasten it. 
This time, when coming back with the 
needle, he keeps both the thread and button 
from slipping, by covering them with his 
thumb ; and it is out of regard for that part 
of him that he feels around for the eye in a 
very careful and judicious manner, but even- 
tually losing his philosophy as the search 
becomes more and more hopeless, he falls to 
jabbing about in a loose and savage manner, 
and it is just then the needle finds the open- 
ing and comes up the button and part way 
through his thumb witli a celerity that no 
human ingenuity can guard against. Then 
he lays down the things with a few familiar 
quotations, and presses the injured hand be- 
tween his knees, and then holds it under the 
other arm, and finally jams it into his mouth, 
and all the while he prances and calls upon 
heaven and earth to witness that there has 
never been anything like it since the world 
was created, and howls, and whistles, and 
moans and sobs. After a while he calms 
down and puts on his pants and fastens them 
together with a stick, and goes to his busi- 
ness a changed man. 

J, M. BAaEY. 



THE DUTCHMAN'S SERENADE- 

You do not need any set tune for the words to be sung. It will be more amusing to have none, but to 
;\temporize as you go along. Stop singing when you come to the words in parenthesis and speak them. 
To complete the impersonation, you should have a violin. Do not recite German dialect pieces too rapidly; 
the words should be pronounced very distinctly. 



t 



^/aKE up, my schveet ! Vake up, my lofe ! 

'o Der moon dot can't been seen abofe. 
Vake ond your eyes, und dough it's late, 
I'll make you oud a serenate. 



Der shtreet dot's kinder dampy vet, 
Und dhere vas no goot blace to set ; 
My fiddle's getting oud of dune, 
So blease get vakey wery §0011. 



HUMOROUS RECITATIONS. 



237 



Sing. 



Sing. 



O my lofe ! my lofely lofe ! 
Am you avake ub dhere abofe, 
Feeling sad und nice to hear 
Schneider's fiddle schrabin near? 

Veil, anyvay, obe loose your ear, 
Und try to saw if you kin hear 
From dem bedclose vat you'm among, 
Der little song I'm going to sung ; 

' O lady ! vake ! Get vake ! 
Und hear der tale I'll tell; 
O you vot's schleebin' sound ub dhere, 
I like you pooty veil ! 

f Your plack eyes dhem don't shine 
(. When you'm ashleep— so vake ! 
(Yes, hurry upp, and voke up quick, 
For gootness gracious sake !) 



Sing. 



Sing. 



r My schveet imbatience, lofe, 
-j I hope you vill excuse ; 
(. I'm singing schveetly (dhere, py Jinks ! 
Dhere goes a shtring proke loose !) 

O putiful, schveet maid ! 

O vill she ever voke ? 
Dermoon is mooning — (Jiiuminy! dlic, .. 

Anoder shtring vent proke !) 



I say, you schleeby, vake ! 

Vake oud ! Vake loose ! Vake ub ! 
Fire ! Murder I Police ! Vatch ! 

O Gracious ! do vake ub ! 

Dot girl she schleebed— dot rain it rained 
Und I looked shtoopid like a fool, 

Vhen mit my fiddle I shneaked off 
So vet und shlobby like a mool I 



BIDDY'S TROUBLES. 



IT'S 
th 
til 



If this selection were recited in the costume of a housemaid, with apron, sunbonnet and bare arms, 
the effect would be intensified. Place the hands on the hips except when gesticuladng. 

U/TV'T'Q fin»^,, fr^^ ^a. TTcfxr f Tic f T n^Tr^r c^/-rl f High and low I went till at last my mis- 
tress axed me for what I v/as looking; and 
I told her the clothes for the ducks, to be sure 
Och, how she scramed and laughed, till my 
face was as rid as the sun wid shame, and she 
showed me in her kind swate way what her 
maneing was. Thin she told me how to air 
the beds ; and it was a day for me, indade, when 
I could go up chamber alone and clare up the 
rooms One day Mrs. Whaler said to me: 

"'Biddy, an' ye may give the baby sf 
airin', if yees will.' 

" What should I do — and it's thru what I 
am saying this blessed minute — but go up- 
stairs wid the child, and shake it and then 
howld it out of the winder. Such a scraming 
and kicking as the baby gave — but I hild on 
the harder. Everybody thin in the strate' 
looked at me ; at last misthress came up to 
see what for was so much noise. /• 

" ' I am thrying to air the baby,' I said, 
' but it kicks and scrames dridfully.' 



thru for me, Katy, that I never seed 
the like of this people afore. It's a 
time I've been having since coming 
to this house, twelve months agone this week 
Thursday. Yer know, honey, that my fourth 
coosin- Ann Macarthy, recommended me to 
Mrs. Whaler, and told the lady that I knew 
about genteel housework and the likes; while 
at the same time I had niver seed inter an 
American lady's kitchen, 

" So she engaged me, and my heart was 
jist ready to burst wid grief for the story that 
Ann had told, for Mrs. Whaler was a swate- 
spoken lady, and never looked cross-like in 
her life ; that I knew by her smooth, kind 
face. Well, jist the first thing she told me to 
do, after I dressed the children, was to dress 
the ducks for dinner, I stood looking at the 
lady for a couple of minutes, before I could 
make out any maneing at all to her words. 

" Thin I went searching after clothes for the 
ducks ; and such a time as I had, to be sure. 



238 



HUMOROUS RECITATIONS. 



"There was company down below; and 
whin Mrs. Whaler told them what I had been 
after doing", I thought they would scare the 
folks in the strate wid scraming. 

" And then I was told I must do up Mr. 
Whaler's sharts one day when my mistress 
was out shopping. She told me repeatedly 
to do them up nice, for master was going 
away, so I takes the sharts and did them all 
up in some paper that I was after bringing 
from the ould country wid me, and tied some 
nice pink ribbon around the bundle. 



'"Where are the sharts, Biddy?' axed 
Mrs. Whaler, when she comed home. 

** ' I have been doing them up in a quair 
nice way,' I said, bringing her the bundle. 

" * Will you iver be done wid your grane- 
ness ! ' she axed me with a loud scrame, 

** I can't for the life of me be tellin' what 
their talkin' manes. At home we call the 
likes of this fine work starching; and a deal 
of it I have done, too. Och ! and may the 
blessed Vargin pity me, for I never'll be 
cured of my graneness ! " 



THE INVENTOR'S WIFE. 



IT'S easy to talk of the patience of Job. 
Humph ! Job hed nothin' to try him ! 
Ef he'd been married to 'Bijah Brown, 
folks wouldn't have dared come nigh 
him. 
Trials, indeed ! Now I'll tell you what — ef you 

want to be sick of your life, 
Jest come and change places with me a spell — 
for I'm an inventor's wife. 

And sech inventions ! I'm never sure, when I 

take up my coffee-pot, 
That 'Bijah hain't been *' imi^rovin' "it, and it 

mayn't go off like a shot. 
Why, didn't he make me a cradle once, that 

would keep itself a-rockin' ; 
And didn't it pitch the baby out, and wasn't his 

head bruised shockin' ? 

And tliere was his ''Patent Peeler," too — a won- 
derful thing, I'll say ; 

But it hed one fault — it never stopi)ed till the 
apple was peeled away. 

As for locks, and clocks, and mowin' machines, 
and reapers, and all sech trash, 

Why, 'Bijah's invented heaps of cm, but tliey 
don't bring in no cash. 

Law! that don't worry him — not at all; he's 

the aggravatin'est man — 
He'll set in his little workship there, and whistle, 

and think, and plan» 



Inventin' a jew's-harp to go by steam, or a new- 
fangled powder-horn, 

While the children's goin' barefoot to school and 
the weeds is chokin' our corn. 

When I've been forced to chop the wood, and 

tend to the farm beside, 
And look at 'Bijah a-settin there, I've jest 

dropped down and cried. 
We lost the hull of our turnip crop while he was- 

inventin' a gun ; 
But I counted it one of my marcies when it bust 

before 'twas done. 

So he turned it into a ''burglar alarm." It 

ought to give thieves a fright — 
'Tv/ould scare an honest man out of his wits, ef 

he sot it off at night. 
Sometimes I wonder ef 'Bijah's crazy, he does 

such cur'ous things. 
Hev I told you about his bedstead yit? — 'Twas 

full of wheels and springs ; 



It had a key to wind it up, and a clock face at 

the head ; 
All you did was to turn them hands, and at anyj 

hour you said. 
That bed got up and shook itself, and bounced 

you on the floor. 
And then shot up, jest like a box, so you couldn'^j 

sleep any more. 






HUMOROUS RECITATIONS. 



23,^' 



Wa'al 'Bijah he fixed it all complete, and he sot 

it at half-past five, 
Bui- he hadn't more'n got into it when — dear 

me ! sakes alive ! 
Them wheels began to whiz and whir ! I heard a 

fearful snap ! 
And there was that bedstead, with 'Bijah inside, 

shet up jest like a trap ! 

I screamed, of course, but 'twan't no use; then 

I worked that hull long night 
A-tryin* to open the pesky thing. At last I got 

ill a fright ; 



I couldn't hear his voice inside, and I thought he 

might be dyin ; 
So I took a crow-bar and smashed it in. — There 

was 'Bijah, peacefully lyin', 

Inventin' a way to git out again. That was all 
very well to say, 

But I don't b'lieve he'd have found it out if I'd 
left him in all day. 

Now, sence I've told you my story, do you 
wonder I'm tired of life ? 

Or think it strange I often wish I warn't an in- 
ventor's wife? Mrs. E. T. Corbett. 



miss EDITH HELPS THINGS ALONG. 




^Y sister' 11 be down in a minute, and 
says you're to wait, if you please ; 
And says I might stay till she 
came, if I'd promise her never 
to tease, 
Nor speak till you spoke to me first. But that's 

nonsense; for how would you know 
What she told me to say, if I didn't? Don't 
you really and truly think so? 

"And then you'd feel strange here alone. And 

you wouldn't know just where to sit; 
For that chair isn't strong on its legs, and we 

never use it a bit : 
We keep it to match with the sofa; but Jack 

says it would be like you 
To flop yourself right down upon it, and knock 

out tht very last screw. 

''Suppose you try ! I won't tell. You're afraid 

to! Oh ! you're afraid they would think it 

was mean ! 
Well, then, there's the album : that's pretty, if 

you're sure that your fingers are clean. 
For sister says sometimes I daub it ; but she only 

says that when she's cross. 
There's her picture. You know it? It's like 

her ; but she ain't as good-looking, of course. 

''This is ME. It's the best of 'em all. Now, tell 

me, you'd never have thought 
That once I was little as that? It's the only 

one that could be bought ; 



For that was the message to pa from the photo- 
graph-man where I sat — 

That he wouldn't print off any more till he first 
get his money for that. 

'' What ? Maybe you're tired of waiting. Why, 

often she's longer than this. 
There's all her back hair to do up, and all of 

her front curls to friz. 
But it's nice to be sitting here talking like grown 

people, just you and me ! 
Do you think you'll be coming here often ? Oh, 

do ! But don't come like Tom Lee — 

"Tom Lee, her last beau. Why, my goodness ! 

he used to be here day and night, 
Till the folks thought he'd be her husband ; and 

Jack says that gave him a fright ; 
You won't run away then, as he did? for you're 

not a rich man, they say. 
Pa says you're poor as a church-mouse. Now, 

are you ? and how poor are they ? 

"Ain't you glad that you met me? Well, I am; 

for I know now your hair isn't red ; 
But what there is left of it's mousy, and not what 

that naughty Jack said. 
But there ! I must go ; sisier's coming ! But I 

wish I could wait, just to see 
If she ran up to you, and she kissed you in the 

way she used to kiss Lee." 

Bret Harte. 



240 



HUMOROUS RECITATIONS. 



THE MAN WHO HAS ALL DISEASES AT ONCE. 



Imitate the cough. Put your hands orx different parts of your body in describing your aches and pains 
Wear a long dismal face. Bend forward and limp as you change your position. 

/^TcOD-MORNING, Doctor; 



how do 
\ St you do ? I hain't quite as well as 
I have been ; but I think I'm some 
better than I was. I don't think that last 
medicine that you gin me did me much 
good. I had a terrible time with the ear- 
ache last night ; my wife got up and drapt a 
few draps of walnut sap into it, and that re- 
lieved it some ; but I didn't get a wink of 
sleep till nearly daylight. For nearly a 
week, Doctor, I've had the worst kind of a 
narvous headache ; it has been so bad some- 
times that I thought my head would bust 
open. Oh, dear! I sometimes think that I'm 
the most afflictedest human that ever lived. 

Since this cold weather sot in, that trouble- 
some cough, that I have had every winter 
for the last fifteen years, has began to pester 
me agin. (^Coicghs.) Doctor, do you think 
you can give me any thing that will relieve 
this desprit pain I have in my side ? 

Then I have a crick, at times, in the back of 
my neck, so that I can't turn my head with- 
out turning the hull of my body. (^Coughs) 

Oh, dear ! What shall I do ? I have con- 
sulted almost every doctor in the country, 
but they don't any of them seem to under- 
stand my case. I have tried everything that 
I could think of; but I can't find anything 
that does me the least good. [Coughs) 

Oh, this cough — it will be the death of me 
yet! You know I h^d my right hip put out 
last fall at the rising of Deacon Jones' saw- 
mill ; it's getting to be very troublesome just 

THE SCHOOL=MA'AM'S COURTING. 

A HEN Mary Ann Dollinger got the skule 
' daown thar on Injun Bay 

I was glad, for I like ter see a gal 
makin' her honest wav. 



before we have a change of weather. Then 
IVe got the sciatica in my right knee, and 
sometimes I'm so crippled up that I can 
hardly crawl round in any fashion. 

What do you think that old white mare of 
ours did while I was out plowing last week? 
Why, the weaked old critter, she kept a back- 
ing and backing, ontil she backed me right 
up agin the colter, and knock'd a piece of 
skin off my shin nearly so big. [Cotighs.) 

But I had a worse misfortune than that the 
other day. Doctor. You see it was washing- 
day — and my wife wanted me to go out and 
bring in a little stove-wood — you know we lost 
our help lately, and my wife has to wash and 
tend to everything about the house herself. 

I knew it wouldn't be safe for me to go 
out — as it was raining at the time — but 1 
thought I'd risk it anyhow. So I went out, 
picked up a few chunks of stove-wood, and 
was a coming up the step> into the house,, 
when my feet slipped from under me, and I 
fell down as sudden as if I'd been shot. 
Some of the wood lit upon my face, broke 
down the bridge of my nose, cut my upper 
lip, and knocked out three of my front teeth. 
I suffered dreadfully on account of it, as 5^ou 
may suppose, and my face ain't well enough 
yet to make me fit to be seen, 'specially by 
the women folks. {Coughs,) Oh, dear! but 
that ain't all. Doctor; I've got fifteen corns 
on my toes — and I'm afeard I'm going to 
have the " yaller janders." [Coughs) 

Dr. Valentine, 




I heard some talk in the village abaout her flyin' 

high, 
Tew high fer busy farmer folks with chores tei 

dew ter fly. 



I 

i 



HUMOROUS RECITATIONS. 



241 



But I paid no sorter attention ter all the talk 

ontel 
She come in her reg'lar boardin' raound ter visit 

with us a si^ell. 
My Jake an' her had been cronies ever since they 

could walk, 
An' it tuk me aback ter hear her kerrectin' him 

in his talk. 

Jake ain't no hand at grammar, though he hain't 

his beat for work ; 
But I sez ter myself, "Look out, my gal, yer 

a-foolin' with a Turk!" 
Jake bore it wonderful patient, an' said ir. a 

mournful way. 
He p'sumed he was behindhand with the doin's 

at Injun Bay. 
1 remember once he was askin' for some o' my 

Injun buns, 
An' she said he should alius say, " them air," stid 

o' " them is " the ones. 
Wal, Mary Ann kep' at him stiddy mornin' an' 

evenin' long. 



Tell he dassent open his moutli for fear o' talkin' 
wrong. 

One day I was pickin' currants daown by the old 

quince tree, 
When I heerd Jake's voice a-sayin': "Be ye willin' 

ter marry me ?" 
An' Mary Ann kerrectin', '* Air ye willin', yeou 

sh'd say." 
Our Jake he put his foot daown in a plum, decided 

way, 
" No wimmen-folks is a-goin' ter be re-arrangin* 

me. 
Hereafter I says * craps,' ' them is/ * I calk'late,' 

an' a be.' 
Ef folks don't like my talk they needn't hark ter 

what I say ; 
But I ain't a-goin' to take no sass from folks from 

Injun Bay. 
I ask you free an' final : Be ye goin' ter marry 

me?" 
An' Mary Ann sez, tremblin', yet anxious-like, 

"I be." Florence E. Pyatt. 



THE DUTCHMAN'S SNAKE, 




;EAR the town of Reading, in Berks 
County, Pennsylvania, there form- 
}p \^ erly lived a well-to-do Dutch 
farmer named Peter Van Riper. His only 
son was a strapping lad of seventeen, also 
named Peter, and upon old Peter and young 
Peter devolved the principal cares of the old 
man's farm, now and then assisted by an an- 
cient Dutchman named Jake Sweighoffer, 
ivho lived in the neighborhood, and went out 
to work by the day. 

One warm day in haying time this trio 
were hard at work in a meadow near the 
farm-house, when suddenly Peter the elder 
dropped his scythe and called out: 
"Oh! mine gracious, Peter! Peter!" 
''What's de matter, fader ?" answered the 
son, straightening up and looking at his 
sire. 

(i6— X) 



"Oh! mine Peter! Peter !" again cried the 
old man, " do come here, right off! Der 
schnake pite mine leg !" 

If anything in particular could disturb the 
nerves of young Peter, it was snakes ; for he 
had once been chased by a black one and 
frightened nearly out of his wits. At the 
word snake, therefore, young Van Riper fell 
back, nimbly as a wire-drawer, and called 
out in turn : " Where is der shnake, fader?" 

" Here, up mine preeches! — Oh! my! my! 
my!" 

" Vy don't you kill him, fader?" exclaimed 
Peter, junior, keeping at a safe distance from 
his suffering sire. 

" I can't get at der little sinner, Peter ; you 
come dake off my drowsis, or he'll kill me 
mit his pites." 

But the fears of Peter, the younger, over- 



242 



HUMOROUS RECITATIONS. 



came his filial affection, and lent strength to 
his lesrs, for he started off like a scared two- 
/ear-old toward the old man Jake, to call him 
to the assistance of his unhappy father. A 
few moments after, the two came bounding 
toward the old man, and as they passed a 
haycock where their garments had been laid 
when they began work, Jake grabbed the 
vest which he supposed belonged to his em- 
ployer. During this time old Peter had 
managed to keep on his feet, although he 
was quaking and trembling like an ' spen 
leaf in a June gale of wind. 

*' Oh ! come quick, Yacob 1" exclainrk<;d he, 
'' he pite like sixty, here, on mine leg." 

Old Jake was not particularly sensitive to 
fear, but few people, young or old, are free 
from alarm when a " pizenous " reptile is 
about. He seized a small pitchfork, and, 
telling the unhappy Van Riper to stand 
steady, promised to stun the reptile by a rap 
or two, even if he didn't kill it outright. The 
frightened old man did not long hesitate be- 
tween the risk of a broken leg or being bit- 
ten to death by a snake, but promptly indi- 
cated the place where Jake should strike - 
Whack went the pitchfork, and down tum- 
bled Peter, exclaiming, "Oh! my! my! my I 
I pleeve you've proke mine leg ! but den der 
shnake's gone." 

" Vere ! vere's he gone to ? " says old 
Sweighoffer, looking sharply about on the 
ground he stood upon. 

" Never mind der shnake now, Yacob," 
says Van Riper," come and help me up, and 
I'll go home." 

" Here, I've got your shacket — put it on,'' 
says Jacob, lifting up the old man, and 
slipping his arms into the armholes of the 
vest. 

The moment old Peter made the effort to 
get the garment on his shoulders, he grew 
livid in the face — his hair stood on end — he 
shivered and shook — his teeth chattered, and 



his knees knocked an accompaniment. " O 
Yacob ! " exclaimed he, " help me to go home 
— I'm dead ! I'm dead ! " 

" Vat's dat you say ? Ish dere nodder 
shnake in your preeches ? " inquired the in- 
trepid Jacob. 

" Not dat — I don t mean dat," says the 
farmer, "but shust you look on me — I'm 
shwelt all up, pigger as an ox ! my shacket 
won't go on my pack. I'm dying mit de 
pizen. Oh ! oh ! oh ! help me home quick." 

The hired man came to the same conclu- 
sion ; and with might and main he hurried 
old Peter along toward the farm-house. 
Meantime young Peter had run home, and so 
alarmed the women folks that they were in a 
high state of excitement when they saw the 
approach of the good old man and his 
assistant. 

Old man Peter was carried into the house, 
laid on a bed, and began to lament his sad 
misfortune in a most grievous manner, when 
the old lady, his frow, came forward and 
proposed to examine the bitten leg. The 
unhappy man opened his eyes and feebly 
pointed out the place of the bite. She care- 
fully ripped up his pantaloons, and out fell — 
a thistle-top ! and at the same time a consid- 
erable scratch was made visible. 

" Call dis a shnake ? Bah ! " says the old 
lady, holding up the thistle. 

" Oh ! but Tm pizened to death, Katreen ! 
— see, I'm all pizen ! — mine shacket ! — Oh 1 
dear, mine shacket not come over mine 
pody ! " 

" Haw ! haw ! you crazy fellow," roars the 
frow, " dat's not your shacket — dat's Peter's 
shacket! ha! ha! ha!" 

" Vat ! dat Peter's shacket ? " says old 
Peter, shaking off death's icy fetters at one 
surge, and jumping up : " Bosh ! Jacob, vat 
an old fool you must be to say I vas shnake- 
pite ! Go 'pout your pusiness, gals. Peter, 
give me mine pipe." 



4 



HUMOROUS RECITATIONS. 



24S 



NO KISS, 




ISS me, Will," sang Marguerite, 
To a pretty little tune, 

Holding up her dainty mouth, 
Sweet as roses born in June. 
Will was ten years old that day, 

And he pulled her golden curls 
Teasingly^ and answer made — 
** I'm too old — I don't kiss girls." 



Ten years pass, and Marguerite 

Smiles as Will kneels at her feet. 
Gazing fondly in her eyes, 

Praying, '' Won't you kiss me, sweet? '* 
'Rite is seventeen to-day, 

With her birthday ring sne toys 
For a moment, then replies : 

"Vm too old — I don't kiss boys.** 



THE LISPING LOVER. 




H ! tnta:y one moment, love implorth, 
Ere yet we break thith happy thpell ! 
For to the thoul my thoul adorth 
It ith tho hard to thay farewell 

And yet how thad to be tho weak, 

To think forever, night or day, 
The thententheth my heart would thpeak 

Thethe lipth can never truly thay. 

How mournful, too, while thuth I kneel. 
With nervouthneth my blith to mar, 



And dream each moment that I feel 
The boot-toe of thy thtern papa. 

Or yet to fanthy that I hear 

A thudden order to decamp, 
Ath dith agreeably thevere 

Ath — " Get out you infernal thcarap ! ** 

Yet recklethly I pauthe by thee. 

To lithp my hopeth, my fearth, my careth. 
Though any moment I may be 

Turning a thomerthel down the thtairth ! 



LARRIE O'DEE, 



■^•rVOW the widow McGee, 
And Tarrie O'Dee, 

Had two little cottages out on the 
green, 

\Vith just room enough for two pig-pens becween. 
The widow was young and the widow was fair. 
With the brightest of eyes and the brownest of 

hair; 
And it frequently chanced, when she came ih. the 

morn 
With the swill for her pig, Larrie came with the 

corn. 
And some of the ears that he tossed from his 

hand, 
In the pen of the widow were certain to land. 

One morning said he : 
** Och ! Misthress McGee, 



It's a waste, of good Wmber, this runnin' two 

rigs, 
Wid a fancy petition betwane our two pigs ! " 
" Indade sur, it is ! " answered Widow McGee, 
With the sweetest of smiles upon Larrie O'Dee. 
''And thin, it looks kind o' hard-hearted and 
mane, 
Kapin' two friendly pigs so exsaidenly near 
That whiniver one grunts the other can hearj 
And yit kape a cruel petition betwane.*' 

'' Shwate Widow McGee," 
Answered Larrie O'Dee, 
'' If ye fale in your heart we are mane to ine pigs, 
Ain't we mane to ourselves to be runnin' two 

rigs? 
Och ! it made me heart ache whin I paped 
through the cracks 



244 



HUMOROUS RECITATIONS. 



Of me shanty, lasht March, at yez shwingin' yer 

axe; 
An' a bobbin' yer head an' a shtompin' yer fate, 
Wid yer purty white hands jisht as red as a bate, 
A-sphlittin' yer kindlin'-wood out in the shtorm, 
When one little shtove it would kap^ us both 

warm ! ' ' 

" Now, piggy," said she ; 
**Larrie's courtin' o' me. 



Wid his dilicate tinder allusions to you, 

So now yez must tell me jisht what I must do . 

For, if I'm to say yez, shtir the swill wid yei 

snout ; 
But if I'm to say no, ye must kape yer nose out. 
Now Larrie, for shame ! to be bribin' a pig 
By a-tossin' a handful of corn in its shwig ! ' 
"Me darHnt, the piggy says yes," anwered he. 
And that was the courtship of Larrie O'Dee. 

W. W. Fink. 



HOW PADEREWSKI PLAYS THE PIANO, 




'IRST a soft and gentle tinkle, 

Gentle as the rain-drop's sprinkle. 
Then a stop, 
Fingers drop. 
Now begins a merry trill, 
Like a cricket in a mill ; 
Now a short, uneasy motion, 
Like a ripple on the ocean. 

See the fingers dance about. 
Hear the notes come tripping out ; 
How they mingle in the tingle 
Of the everlasting jingle. 
Like to hailstones on a shingle. 
Or the ding-dong, dangle-dingle 
Of a sheep-bell ! Double, single. 
Now they come in wilder gushes, 
Up and down the player rushes. 
Quick as squirrels, sweet as thrushes. 

Now the keys begin to clatter 
Like the music of a platter 
When the maid is stirring batter. 



O'er the music comes a change, 

Every tone is wild and strange ; 

Listen to the lofty tumbling. 

Hear the mumbling, fumbling, jumbling, 

Like the rumbling and the grumbling 

Of the thunder from its slumbering 

Just awaking. Now it's taking 

To the quaking, like a fever-and-ague shaking ; 

Heads are aching, something's breaking — 

Goodness gracious ! it is wondrous, 

Rolling round, above, and under us, 

Like old Vulcan's stroke so thunderous. 

Now 'tis louder, but the powder 

Will be all exploded soon ; 

For the only way to do, 

When the music's nearly through, 

Is to muster all your muscle for a bang. 

Striking twenty notes together with a clang : 

Hit the treble with a twang. 

Give the bass an awful whang. 

And close the whole performance 

With a slam — bang — whang ! 



•►-r=rS)fi 



THE FRECKLE 

|A'S up stairs changing her dress," 
said the freckled-faced little 
girl, tying her doll's bonnet 
strings and casting her eye about for a tidy 
large enough to serve as a shawl for that 
double-jointed young person. 

**0h, your mother needn't dress up for 




FACED GIRL. 

me," replied the female agent of the mis^ 
sionary society, taking a self-satisfied view 
of herself in the mirror. " Run up and tell 
her to come down just as she is in her every- 
day clothes, and not stand on ceremony." 

'^ Oh, but she hasn't got on her everyday 
clothes. Ma was all dressed up in her new 




PHOrO. B t' MORRIfaON, CHICAGO 

THK MASK REMOVED 




>HOTO. BY MORRISON, CHICAGO 



NO DECEPTION, NOW 1 



HUMOROUS RECITATIONS. 



245 



brown silk dress, 'cause she expected Miss 
Dimmond to-day. Miss Dimmond alv/ays 
comes over here to show off her nice things, 
and ma doesn't mean to get left. When ma 
saw you coming she said, * the dickens ! ' and 
I guess she was mad about something. Ma 
said if you saw her new dress, she'd have to 
hear all about the poor heathen, who don't 
have silk, and you'd ask her for money to 
buy hymn books to send 'em. Say, do the 
nigger ladies use hymn-book leaves to do 
their hair up on and make it frizzy ? Ma 
says she guesses that's all the good the books 
do 'em, if they ever get any books. I wish 
my doll was a heathen." 

"Why, you wicked little girl! what do 
you want of a heathen doll ? " inquired the 
missionary lady, taking a mental inventory 
of the new things in the parlor to get ma- 
terial for a homily on worldly extravagance. 

" So folks would send her lots of nice things 
to wear, and feel sorry to have her going 
about naked. Then she'd have her hair to 
frizz, and I want a doll with truly hair and 
eyes that roll up like Deacon Silderback's 
when he says amen on Sunday. I ain't a 
wicked girl, either, 'cause Uncle Dick — you 
know Uncle Dick, he's been out West and 
swears awful and smokes in the house — he 
says I'm a holy terror, and he hopes I'll be 
an angel pretty soon. Ma'U be down in a 
minute, so you needn't take your cloak off. 
She said she'd box my ears if I asked you to. 

" Ma's putting on that old dress she had 
last year, 'cause she didn't want you to 



think she was able to give much this time, 
and she needed a muff worse than the queen 
of the cannon-ball islands needed 'ligion. 
Uncle Dick says you oughter get to the 
islands, ^cause you'd be safe there, and the 
natives would be sorry they was such sin- 
ners anybody would send you to *em. He 
says he never seen a heathen hungry enough 
to eat you, 'less it was a blind one, an* you'd 
set a blind pagan's teeth on edge so he'd 
never hanker after any more missionary. 
Uncle Dick's awful funny, and makes ma 
and pa die laughing sometimes." 

*' Your Uncle Richard is a bad, depraved 
wretch, and ought to have remained out 
West, where his style is appreciated. He sets 
a horrid example for little girls like you.'* 

" Oh, I think he's nice. He showed me 
how to slide down the banisters, and he's 
teaching me to whistle when ma ain't around. 
That's a pretty cloak you've got, ain't it? 
Do you buy all your clothes with missionary 
money? Ma says you do." 

Just then the freckle-faced little girl's ma 
came into the parlor and kissed the mission- 
ary lady on the cheek and said she was de- 
Hghted to see her, and they proceeded to 
have a real sociable chat The little girl's 
ma cannot understand why a person who 
professes to be so charitable as the mission- 
ary agent does should go right over to Miss 
Dimmond's and say such ill-natured things 
as she did, and she thinks the missionary is 
a double-faced gossip. The little girl under- 
stands it better than her ma does. 



IP!" 



WHEN GIRLS WORE CALICO. 



HERE was a time, betwixt the days 

Of linsey woolsey, straight and prim. 
And these when mode, with despot ways. 
Leads woman captive at its whim, 
Yet not a hundred years ago, 
When girls wore sirnph calico. 



Within the barn, by lantern light. 

Through many a reel, with flying feet; 
The boys and maidens danced at night 
To fiddled measures, shrilly sweet ; 
And merry revels were they, though 
The girls were gowned in calico. 



246 



HUMOROUS RECITATIONS. 



Across the flooring rough and gray 

The gold of scattered chaff was spread. 
And long festoons of clover hay 

That straggled from the loft o'erhead, 
Swung scented fringes to and fro 
O'er pretty girls in calico. 

They used to go a-Maying then, 

The blossoms of the spring to seek 
In sunny glade and sheltered glen, 
Unweighed by fashion's latest freak; 
And Robin fell in love, I know, 
With Phyllis in her calico. 



A tuck, a frill, a bias fold, 

A hat curved over gipsy-wise. 
And beads of coral and of gold, 
And rosy cheeks and merr). eyes. 
Made lassies in that long ago 
Look charming in their calico. 

The modern knight who loves a maid 

Of gracious air and gentle grace, 
And finds her oftentimes arrayed 
In shining silk and priceless lace, 
Would love her just as well, I know^ 
In pink and lilac calico. 

Hattie Whitney. 



••-^-=®©N'^<rS)' 



A WINNING COMPANY, 



J F gran 'paw was a soldier now 
He'd show 'em what to do ; 

You ought to come and lisen how 
He talks to me and Sue. 

He tells us all about the days 

He led his gallant men. 
And all about the different ways 

He won the battles then. 



An' ev'ry night when paw comes in 

An* says the fight's begun, 
He tells what they could do to win 
Er what they ought to done. 

An' paw he laugh and looks at me 
An' says we'd surely win Jt 

If gran'paw led a company 
An' Sue an' me was in it. 



THE BRAVEST SAILOR OF ALL, 



This graceful tribule to the martial spirit of the little tots should be recited in a slightly bombastic styte. 
The little one considers himself quite a hero and should be described accordingly. 

He fights with Dewey; plants his flag upon each 
island's shore, 



(5p|" KNOW a naval officer, the bravest fighting 
man ; 
He wears a jaunty sailor suit, his cap says 
" Puritan." 
And all day long lie sails a ship between our 

land and Spain, 
And lie avenges, every hour, the martyrs of the 
^' Maine." 

His warship is six inches square, a wash-tub 

serves for ocean ; 
But never yet, on any coast, was seen such dire 

commotion. 
With one skilled move his boat is sent from 

Cuba to midsea, 
And just as quickly back it comes to set Havana 

free. 



Then off with Sampson's fleet he goes to shed the 

Spanish gore. 
He comes to guard New England's coast, but ere 

his anchor falls, 
He hurries off in frightful speed, to shell Manila's 

walls. 

The Philippines so frequently have yielded to his 

power, 
There's very little left of them, I'm certain, at 

this hour ; 
And when at last he falls asleep, it is to wake again 
And hasten into troubled seas and go and con- 

auer Spain. 

Eu.A Wheeler Wilcox. 



HUMOROUS RECITATIONS. 



247 



HOW SHE WAS CONSOLED, 




UT in the field in the red o' the rain 
That crimsoned the breasts that the 

battle had slain, 
He lay in the shadow — the captain— at 
rest, 
With a lock of gold hair round a face on his 
breast. 

Out in the darkness, all pallid and dumb, 
A woman waits long for the captain to come ; 



And she kisses his portrait. O, pitiful pain ! 
She shall kiss not the lips of the captain again ! 

But a woman's a woman, though loyal and 

brave. 
Love fareth but ill in the gloom of a grave. 
The captain lies mute 'neath the stars and the 

snow. 
And the woman he loved — well, she's married, 

you know! 



W^' 



THAT HIRED QIRL. 



HEN she came to work for the fam- 
ily on Congress street, the lady of 
the house sat dovi^n and told her 
that agents, picture-sellers, peddlers, rag- 
men, and all that class of people must be met 
at the front door and coldly repulsed, and 
Sarah said she'd repulse them if she had to 
break every broomstick in town. 

And she did. She threw the door open 
wide, bluffed right up at 'em, and when she 
got through talking, the cheekiest agent was 
only too glad to leave. It got so after a 
while. that peddlers marked that house, and 
the door-bell never rang except for com- 
pany. 

The other day, as the girl of the house was 
wiping off the spoons, the bell rang. She 
hastened to the door, expecting to see a lady, 
but her eyes encountered a sHm man, dressed 
in black and wearing a white necktie. He 
was the new minister, and was going around 
to get acquainted with the members of his 
flock, but Sarah wasn't expected to know 
this. 

" Ah— urn— is— Mrs. — ah ! '^ 

" Git ! " exclaimed Sarah, pointing to the 
gate. 

" Beg pardon, but I would like to see- 
see—! " 



" Meander?" she shouted, looking around 
for a weapon ; " we don't want any flour- 
sifters here ! " 

" You're mistaken," he replied, smiHng 
blandly. '' I called to—" 

" Don't want anything to keep moths 
away — fly ! '' exclaimed Sarah, getting red in 
the face. 

" Is the lady in?'' he inquired, trying to 
look over Sarah's head. 

'^ Yes, the lady is in, and I'm in, and you 
are out ! " she snapped ; " and now I don't 
want to stand here talking to a fly-trap agent 
any longer ! Come lift your boots ! " 

" I'm not an agent," he said, trying to 
smile. " I'm the new — " 

" Yes, I know you — you are the new man 
with the patent flat-iron, but we don't want any, 
and you'd better go before I call the dog ! " 

" Will you give the lady my card, and say 
that I called ? " 

" No, I won't ; we are bored to death witH t 
cards and handbills and circulars. Come, I 
can^t stand here all day." 

" Didn't know that I was a minister ? " he 
asked, as he backed off. 

" No, nor I don't know it now ; you look 
like the man who sold the woman next door 
a ten cent chromo for two dollars." 



248 



HUMOROUS RECITATIONS. 



** But here is my card." 

" I don't care for cards, I tell you ! If you 
leave that gate open, I will have to fling a 
flower-pot at you ! " 

'* I will call again," he said, as he went 
<lirough the gate. 

** It won't do any good ! " she shouted 



after him ; *• we don't want no prepared foH 
for infants — no piano music — no stuffed 
birds ! I know the policeman on this beat, 
and if you come around here again, he'U soon 
find out whether you are a confidence man 
or vagrant ! '^ 

And she took unusual care to lock the door 



WHAT SAMBO SAYS, 



^!!r\OVV, in dese busy wukin' days, dey's 
changed de Scripter fashions, 
An' you needn't look to mirakuls to 
furnish you wid rations; 
Now, when you's wantin' loaves o* bread, you 

got to go and fetch 'em. 
An' ef you's wantin' fishes, you mus* dig your 

wums an' ketch 'em; 
For you kin put it down as sartin dat the time is 

long gone by, 
When sassages an' 'taters use to rain fum out de sky ! 

I nebber likes de cuUud man dat thinks too much 

o' eatin' ; 
But frolics froo de wukin' days, and snoozfS at 

de meetin' ; 
Dat jines de Temp'ance 'Ciety, an' keeps a gettin' 

tight, 
An' pulls his water-millions in de middle ob de 

night ! 
Dese milerterry nigger chaps, with muskets in 

deir han's^ 



Perradin' froo de city to de music ob de ban's, 

Had better drop deir guns, an' go to marchin' 
wid deir hoes 

An' git a honest libbin' as d^ chop de cotton- 
rows. 

Or de State may put 'em arter while to drillin' in 
de ditches, 

Wid more'n a single stripe a-runnin' 'cross deir 
breeches. 

Well, you think dat doin' nuffin' 'tall is mighty 
sort o' nice. 

But it busted up de renters in de lubly Para- 
dise! 

You see, dey bofe was human bein's jes' like me 
an' you, 

An' dey couldn't reggerlate deirselves wid not a 
thing to do ; 

Wid plenty wuk befo' 'em, an' a cotton crop to 
make, 

Dey'd nebber thought o' loafin' roun' an' chattin' 
wid de snake. 




THE IRISH 

DON'T go way until you hear 
A story, though it may seem queer. 
Of a family known both near and far 
By the fimny name of Ump Ha Ha. 

Mr. Vm\) Ha Ha, one clay. 

Thought he would like to take a sleigh 

And ride upon the frozen snow ; 

And Mrs. Ump Ha Ha said she would go, 

Taking all the family, of course, 

Tncmding, too, the family horse. 



SLEIGH RIDE. 

He was a mule, and a thin one, too; 

You could see his ribs where the hay stuc^ 

through. 

They hitched him up to an old-time bob. 

Then you ought to have seen the mob ! 

There were Patrick, Mary Ump Ha Ha, 
Grace and Carrie Ump Ha Ha, 
Mike and Freddie Ump Ha Ha, 
i Willie and Eddie Ump Ha Ha, 



HUMOROUS RFXITATIONS. 



249 



Tim and Juley Ump Ha Ha, 
Rose and Peggy Ump Ha Ha, 
Lizzie and Mayme Ump Ha Ha, 
Big fat Jammie Ump Ha Ha. 

Fifteen people in one sleigh 

Started out to spend the day. 

'rhe way they packed and jammed them in, 

It made the family horse look thin. 

As luck will have it, as it will. 

They started from the top of a hill. 

The hill was slippery ; down they flew. 

How fast they went they never knew. 

The time they made it can't be beat. 

The old mule had no use for his feet ; 

He went like a bird or ships on sail ; 



He flew with his ears and steered with his tail. 
It was a mile to the bottom and the bottom was 

mud, 
And they went down with a sickening thud. 

Mary Ump Ha Ha was dazed, 

Patrick Ump Ha Ha was crazed, 

Little Willie bumped his nose, 

Big fat Jammie she got froze. 

Fourteen doctors came at once. 

The old mule was buried in the ground. 

Did you ever see a dead mule laying around? 

It took four drays to get them home. 

And when they found they broke no bones, 

They all sat down and thanked their stars, 

And then they laughed out, Ump Ha Ha. 



JANE JONES. 



'ANE JONES keeps a-whisperin' to me all 
the time, 
An* says : '* Why don't you make it a rule 
To study your lessons, an* work hard an' 
learn, 
An' never be absent from school? 
Remember the story of Elihu Burritt, 

How he dumb up to the top ; 
Got all the knowledge 'at he ever had 

Down in the blacksmithin' shop." 
Jane Jones she honestly said it was so ; 

Mebby he did — I dunno j 
'Course, what's a-keepin' me 'way from the top 
Is not never havin' no blacksmithin' shop. 

She said 'at Ben Franklin was awfully poor, 

But full o' ambition and brains, 
An' studied philosophy all 'is hull life — 

An' see what he got for his pains. 
He brought electricity out of the sky 

With a kite an' the lightnin' an' key. 



So we're owin' him more'n any one else 

For all the bright lights 'at we see. 
Jane Jones she actually said it was so. 

Mebby he did — I dunno ; 
' Course, what's allers been hinderin' me 
In not havin' any kite, lightnin' or key. 

Jane Jones said Columbus was out at the knees 

When he first thought up his big scheme ; 
An' all of the Spaniards an' Italians, too, 

They laughed an' just said ' twas a dream ; 
But Queen Isabella she listened to him. 

An' pawned all her jewels o' worth, 
An' bought 'im the '^ Santa Marier" 'n said: 

'' Go hunt up the rest of the earth." 
Jane Jones she honestly said it was so; 

Mebby he did— I dunno ; 
'Course, that may all be, but you must alH,v 
They ain't any land to discover just now. 



Ben Kii<6i 






DE OLE PLANTATION MULE. 



WERRY funny feller is de ole plantation 
mule; 
An' nobody '11 play wid him unless 
he is a fooL 



De bestest ting to do w'en you meditates about 

him, 
Is to kinder sorter calkerlate you'll get along 

widout him. 



250 



HUMOROUS RECITATIONS. 



Wen you try to 'preach dat mule from de front 

endwise, 
He look as meek as Moses, but his looks is full 

ob lies ; 
He doesn't move a muscle, he doesn't even 

wink; 
.in' you say his dispersition's better'n people 

tink. 

He Stan' so still that you s'j^ose he is a monu- 
ment of grace ; 

An* you almos' see a 'nevolent expression on his 
face; 

But dat 'nevolent expression is de mask dat's 
allers worn ; 

Por ole Satan is behin' it, jest as sure as you is 
born. 



Den you cosset him a little^ an' you pat his other 

end. 
An' you has a reverlation dat he ain't so much 

your friend; 
You has made a big mistake ; but before de heart 

repents, 
You is histed werry sudden to de odder side de 

fence. 

Well, you feel like you'd been standin' on de 

locomotive track 
x\n' de engine come an' hit you in de middle ob 

de back ; 
You don' know wat has happened, you can scarcely 

cotch your breff ; 
But you tink you've made de 'quaintance ob a 

werry vi'lent deff. 



ADAM NEVER WAS A BOY. 




F all the men the world has seen 
Since time his rounds began. 
There's one I pity every day — 
Earth's first and foremost man; 
And then I think what fun he missed 

By failing to enjoy 
The wild delights of youth-time, for 
He never was a boy. 

He never stubbed his naked toe 

Against a root or stone ; 
He never with a pin-hook fished 

Along the brook alone; 
He never sought the bumblebee 

Among the daisies coy. 
Nor felt its business end, because 

He never was a boy. 

He never hookey played, nor tied 

The ever- ready pail, 
Down in the alley all alone, 

To trusting Fido's tail. 
And when he home from swimmin* came, 

His happiness to cloy, 
No slipper interfered, because 

TI : J:?ver \\'?,z a boy. 



He might refer to splendid times 

'Mong Eden's bowers, yet 
He never acted Romeo 

To a six year Juliet. 
He never sent a valentine. 

Intended to annoy 
A good, but maiden aunt, because 

He never was a boy. 

He never cut a kite string, no I 

Nor hid an Easter egg ; 
He never ruined his pantaloons 

A-playing mumble-peg; 
He never from the attic stole, 

A coon-hunt to enjoy. 
To find " the old man " watching, for 

He never was a boy. 

I pity him. Why should I not? 

I even drop a tear ; 
He did not know how much he missed ; 

He never Avill, I fear. 
And when the scenes of " other days' 

My growing mind employ, 
I think of him, earth's only man 

Who never was a boy. 

T. C. Ha RR A UGH, 



HUMOROUS RECITATIONS. 



251 



A REMARKABLE CASE OF S'POSIN, 



^ z 



MAN hobbled into the ColonePs 

office upon crutches. Proceeding to 

/ Jls\^^ a chair and making a cushion of 

some newspapers, he sat down 

very gingerly, placed a bandaged leg upon 

another chair, and said : 

*' Col. Coffin, my name is Briggs. I want 
to get your opinion about a little point of 
law. Now, Colonel, s'posin' you lived up 
the pike here a half mile, next door to a man 
named Johnson. And s'posin' you and John- 
son was to get into an argument about the 
human intellect, and you was to say to John- 
son that a splendid illustration of the super- 
iority of the human intellect was to be found 
in the power of the human eye to restrain the 
ferocity of a wild animal. And s posin' John- 
son was to remark that that was all bosh, 
because nobody could hold a wild animal 
with the human eye, and you should declare 
that you could hold the savagest beast that 
was ever born if you could once fix your 
gaze on him. 

" Well, then, s'posin' Johnson was to say 
he'd bet a hundred dollars he could bring a 
tame animal that you couldn't hold with your 
eye, and you was to take him up on it, and 
JohnsorL was to ask you to come down to his 
place to settle the bet. You'd go, we'll say, 
and Johnson'd wander round to the back of 
the house and pretty soon come front again 
with a dog bigger'n any four decent dogs 
ought to be. And then s'posin' Johnson'd 
let go of that dog and set him on you, and 
he'd come at you like a sixteen-inch shell out 
of a howitzer, and you'd get scary about it 
and try to hold the dog with your eye and 
couldn't. 

" And s'posin' you'd suddenly conclude 
that maybe your kind of an eye wasn't cal- 
culated to hold that kind of a dog, and you'd 
conclude to rim for a plum tree in order to 



have a chance to collect your thoughts and 
to try to reflect what sort of an eye would be 
best calculated to mollify that sort of a dog. 
You ketch my idea, of course ? 

" Very well, then ; s'posin' you'd take 
your eye off of that dog— Johnson, mind you, 
all the time hissing him on and laughing, and 
you'd turn and rush for the tree, and begin 
to swarm up as fast as you could. Well, sir, 
s'posin' just as you got three feet from the 
ground Johnson's dog would grab you by 
the leg and hold on like a vise, shaking you 
until you nearly lost your hold. 

" And s'posin' Johnson was to stand there 
and holloa, ' Fix your eye on him, Briggs ! 
Why don't you manifest the power of the 
human intellect ? ' and so on, hov/ling out 
ironical remarks like those; and s'posin' he 
kept that dog on that leg until he made you 
swear to pay the bet, and then at last had to 
pry the dog off with a hot poker, bringing 
away at the same time some of your flesh in 
the dog's mouth, so that you had to be car- 
ried home on a stretcher, and to hire several 
doctors to keep you from dying with lock- 
jaw. 

" Sposin' this, what I want to know is, 
couldn't you sue Johnson for damages and 
make hirn pay heavily for what that dog did ? 
That's what I want to get at." 

The Colonel thought for a moment, and 
then said : 

" Well, Mr. Briggs, I don't think I could. 
If I agreed to let Johnson set the dog at me, 
I should be a party to the transaction, and J\^ 
could not recover." ' 

" Do you mean to say that the law won't 
make that infernal scoundrel Johnson suffer 
for letting his dog eat me up ? " 

" I think not, if you state the case prop- 
erly." 

"It won't, hey?" exclaimed Mr. BriggSj 



252 



HUMOROUS RECITATIONS. 



hysterically. "' Oh, very well, very well ! I 
b'pose if that dog had chewed me all up it'd 
Ve been all the same to this constitutional 
republic. But hang me if I don't have satis- 
faction. I'll kill Johnson, poison his dog, 



and emigrate to some country where the 
rights of citizens are protected ! " 

Then Mr. Briggs got on his crutches and 
hobbled out. He is still a citizen, and will 
vote at the next election. 



MY PARROT. 



1 



Let your face express contempt on the word "pshaw,'' and make the gesture in Figure 24 of 
Ty])ical Gestures. Drawl out the word "yawned " in the third verse and give a comical wink in the fourth 
verse. Prolong the sound on "pshaw" in the last line. 

I HAD a parrot once, an ugly bird, 



With the most wicked eye I ever saw, 
Who, though it comprehended all it heard, 
Would only say, " O pshaw ! " 



I did my best to teach it goodly lore | 
I talked to it of medicine and law; 

It looked as if it knew it all before, 
And simply said, " O pshaw ! " 

I sat me down upon a dry-goods box 

To stuff sound doctrine down its empty 
craw. 

It would have none of matters orthodox. 
But yawned and said, *'0 pshaw ! " 

I talked to it of politics, finance ; 

I hoped to teach the bird to say " Hurrah !" 



For my pet candidates when he'd a chance, 
He winked and chirped, '' O pshaw ! " 

I am for prohibition, warp and woof, 

But that bird stole hard cider through a straw, 

And then he teetered off at my reproof 
And thickly said, " O pshaw ! " 

Enraged, I hurled a bootjack, missed my aim 
And plugged a passing stranger in the jaw ; 

He wheeled to see from whence the missile came ; 
The demon laughed " O pshaw ! " 

I gave the creature to an old-maid aunt, 

And shook with parting grief its skinny claw. 
"He'll serve to cheer," she said, ** my lonely 

hearth, 
For I'd not marry the best man on earth ! " 
"O pshaw!" sneered Poll, ''O psha-a-w!'' 
Emma H. Webb. 



BAKIN AND GREENS. 

to' may tell me ob pastries and fine oyster 
patties, 
Of salads and crowkcts an' Boston baked 
beans, 
But dar's nuffm so temptin' to dis nigger's palate 
As a big slice of bakin and plenty ob greens. 



Jes bile 'em right down, so dey'll melt when yo' 
eat 'em ; 
Hab a big streak ob fat an' a small streak o' 
lean; 
Dar's nuffin on earf yo' kin fix up to beat 'em, 
Fur dc king ob all di<:hes am bakin and greens. 



Den take some co'hnmeal and sif it and pat it. 

An' put it in de ashes wid nuffin between; 
Den blow off de ashes and set right down at it, 

For dar's nuffin like ashcake wid bakin and 
greens. 



'Twill take de ole mammies to fix 'em up 
greasy, 
Wid a lot ob good likker and dumplin's be- 
tween. 
Take all yo' fine eatin', I won't be uneasy, 
If you'll gimme dat bakin wid plenty ob 
greens. 



-^^ssrw 




■'■kJ&:. 



e.HOTO. DY t.lORRISO;<, CHICAGO 

A HUMOROUS RECITATION 




PHOTO, hi MORRISON, CHICAGO 

RECITAIv WITH HARP ACCOMPANIMENT 



HUMOROUS RECITATIONS. 



253 



Rich folks in dar kerrage may frow de dust on me; 

But how kin I envy dem men ob big means. 
Dey may hab de dispepsey and do' they may 
scorn me, 
Dey can't enjoy bakin wid a dish ob good 
greens. 



You may put me in rags, fill my cup up v/id sor- 
row; 
Let joy be a stranger, and trouble my dreams, 
But I still will be smilin', no pain kin I borrow, 
Ef you lebe me dat bakin wid plenty of 
greens. 



HUNTING A MOUSE. 



(aV was dozing comfortably in my easy- 
*- 1 chair, and dreaming of the good times 
qIA^ which I hope are coming, when there 
fell upon my ears a most startling scream. 
It was the voice of my Maria Ann in agony. 
The voice came from the kitchen, and to the 
kitchen I rushed. The idolized form of my 
Maria was perched on a chair, and she was 
flourishing an iron spoon in all directions 
and shouting " shoo," in a general manner, 
at everything in the room. To my anxious 
inquires as to what was the matter, she 
screamed, " O Joshua ! a mouse, shoo — wha 
— shoo — a great — ya — shoo — horrid mouse) 
and — she — ew — it ran right out of the cup- 
board — shoo — go way — O Lord — Joshua — 
shoo — kill it, oh, my — shoo." 

All that fuss, you see, about one little 
harmless mouse. Some women are so afraid 
of mice. Maria is. I got the poker and set 
myself to poke that mouse, and my wife 
jumped down and ran off into another room. 
I found the mouse in a corner under the 
sink. The first time I hit it I didn't poke it 
any on account of getting the poker all 
tangled up in a lot of dishes in the sink ; and 
I did ni|t hit it any more because the mouse 
would 'ubt stay still. It ran right toward 
me, and I naturally jumped, as anybody 
would ; but I am not afraid of mice, and when 
the horrid thing ran up inside the leg of my 
pantaloons, I yelled to Maria because I was 
afraid it would gnaw a hole in my garment. 

I did n^t lose my presence of mind for an 
instant. I caught the mouse just as it was 



clambering over my knee, nnd by pressing 
firmly on the outside of the cloth, I kept the 
animal a prisoner on the inside. I kept 
jumping around with all my might to con- 
fuse it, so that it would n^t think about bit- 
ing, and I yelled so that the mice would n|;>t 
hear its squeaks and come to its assistance. 
A man can't handle many mice at once to 
advantage. Besides, I'm not so spry as I was 
before I had that spine in my back and had 
to wear plasters. 

Maria was white as a sheet when she came 
into the kitchen and asked what she should 
do — as though I could hold the mouse and 
plan a campaign at the same time. I told 
her to think of something, and she thought 
she would throw things at the intruder ; but 
as there was no earthly chance for her to hit 
the mouse, while every shot took effect on 
me, I told her to stop, after she had tried two 
flat-irons and the coal-scuttle. She paused 
for breath ; but I kept bobbing around. 
Somehow I felt no inclination to sit down 
anywhere. " O Joshua," she cried, " I wish 
you had n\)t killed the cat." 

Then she got the tea-kettle and wanted to ^ 
scald the mouse. I objected to that process, 
except as a last resort. Then she got some 
cheese to coax the mouse down, but I did 
n^t dare to let go, for fear it would run up. 
Matters were getting desperate. I told her 
to think of something else, and I kept jump- 
ing. Just as I was ready to faint with ex- 
haustion, I tripped over an iron, lost my 
hold, and the mouse fell to the floor, very 



5>54 



HUMOROUS RECITATIONS. 



dead I had no idea a mouse could be 
squeezed to death so easy. 

That was not the end of the trouble, for 
before I had recovered my breath a fireman 
broke in one of the front windows, and a 
whole company followed him through, and 
tiiey dragged hose around, and mussed 
things all over the house, and then the fore- 
man wanted to thrash me because the house 
was n^t on fire, and I had hardly got him 
pacified before a policeman came in and ar- 



rested me. Some one had run down and 
told him I was drunk and was killing Mar''«, 
It was all Maria and I could do, by com 
bining our eloquence, to prevent him from 
marching me off in disgrace, but we finallv 
got matters quieted and the house clear. 

Now when mice run out of the cupboard 
I go outdoors, and* let Maria " shoo " them 
back again. I can kill a mouse, but the fun 
don't pay for the trouble. 

Joshua Jenkins. 



THE VILLAGE SEWING SOCIETY. 

This is a very amusing recitation when correctly rendered. The gossips make the most disparaging 
remarks about their neighbors, but are very pleasant to their faces. The words in parentheses should be 
spoken "aside ' in an undertone. A recital for one who can imitate different female voices. 




JS' JONES is late agin to-day : 
I'd be ashamed now ef 'tAvas me. 
Don't tell it, but I've heerd folks 
say 
She only comes ♦•.o get her tea.** 

'^Law me ! she nc^an't want it here, 

The deacop s folks ain't much on eatin' : 
rhey haven't made a pie this year ! 
Of course, 'twon't do to be repeatin'; 

"B'lt old Mis' Jenkins says it's true 

(You know she lives just 'cross the way, 
And sees most everything they do.) 
She says she saw 'em t'other day — " 

*'Hnsh, here comes Hannah! How d'ye do ? 

Why, what a pretty dress you've got ! " 
(''Her old merino made up new: 

/know it by that faded spot.") 

''Jest look! there's Dr. Stebbins' wife" — 
"A bran-new dress and bunnit ! — well — 
They sny she leads him such a life ! 
But, iherc ! I promised not to tell." 

"Whit's that, Mis' Brown? 'Allfriench' of 
course ; 
And you can see with your own eyes, 



That that gray mare's the bet^^er horse, 
Though gossipin' I do dispise." 

" Poor Mary Allen's lost her beau" — 
"It serves her right, conceited thing! 
She's flirted awfully, I know. 

Say have you heard she kept his ring?" 

"Listen ! the clock is striking six. 

Thank goodness ! then it's time for tea.*' 
"Now ain't that too much I Abby Mix 

Has folded up her work ! Just see ! " 

"Why canU she wait until she's told ? 

Yes, thank you, deacon, here we come." 
("I hope the biscuits won't be cold: 

No coffee ? Wish I was tu hum I " 

" Do tell, Mis' Ellis ! Did you make 
This cheese ? the best I ever saw. 
Such jumbles too (no jelly cake) : 

I'm quite ashamed to take one more." 

'' Good-by : we've had a first-rate time, 

And first-rnte tea, I must declare. 

Mis' Ellis' things are always prime. 

(Well, next week's meetin' won't be there f*^^ 



^ 



n 



HUMOROUS RECITATIONS. 



25^ 



SIGNS 

whose style 



was 
what he 



(^>|^N old gentleman 

A^ Germanized, was asked 
yJljjV^^ thought of signs and omens. 

" Veil, I don't dinks mooch of 
dem dings, und I don't pelieve averydings; 
but I dells you somedimes dere is somedings 
ash dose dings. Now de oder night I sit and 
reads mine newspaper, und my frau she speak 
und say — 

" * Fritz, de dog ish howling ! ' 

"Veil, I don' dinks mooch of dem dings, 
und I goes on und reads mine paper, und 
mine frau she says — 

" * Fritz, dere is somedings pad is happen, — 
der dog ish howling ! ' 

" Und den I gets hop mit mineself und look 
out troo de wines on de porch, und de moon 
was shinin', und mine leetle dog he shoomp 



AND OMENS. 

right up und down hke averydings, und he 
park at de moon, dat was shine so bright as 
never vas. Und ash I hauled mine het in de 
winder, de old voman she say — 

" ' Mind, Fritz, I dells you dere ish some- 
ding pad ish happen. De dog ish howling/ 

" Veil, I goes to ped, und I shleeps, und all 
night long ven I vakes up dere vas dat dog 
howling outside, und ven I dream I bear dat 
howling vorsher ash never. Und in de morn- 
ing I kits up und kits mine breakfast, und mine 
frau she looks at me und say, werry solemn — 

" * Fritz, dere is somedings pad ish happen. 
De dog vas hov/1 all night.' 

" Und shoost den de newspaper came in, 
und I opens him und by shings, vot you dinks ; 
dere vas a man's vife cracked his skull in 
Philadelphia ! " 



THE GHOST. 



Sing to the tune of Yankee 

IS about twenty years since Abel Law, 
A short, round -favored, merry 
Old soldier of the Revolutionary 
War, 

Was wedded to 

A most abominable shrew. 

The temper, sir, of Shakespeare's Catharine 

Could no more be compared with hers, 

Than mine 

With Lucifer's. 

Her eyes were like a weasel's ; she had a harsh 
Face, like a cranberry marsh. 
All spread 

With spots of white and red ; 
Hair of the color of a wisp of straw, 
And a disposition like a cross-cut saw. 
The appellation of this lovely dame 
Was Nancy; don't forget the name. 

Her brother David was a tall. 
Good-looking chap, and that was all ; 



Doodle the words designated. 

One of your great, big nothings, as we say 

Here in Rhode Island, picking up old jokes 

And cracking them on other folks. 

Well, David undertook one night to play 

The Ghost, and frighten Abel, who. 

He knew, 

W@uld be returning from a journey through 

A grove of forest wood 

That stood 

Below 

The house some distance — half a mile, or so. 

With a long taper 
Cap of white paper, 
Just made to cover 
A wig, nearly as large over 
As a corn-basket, and a sheet 
With both ends made to meet 
Across his breast, 

(The way in which ghosts are always dressed,) 
He took 



256 



HUMOROUS RECITATIONS. 



His station near 

A huge oak-tree, 

\\' hence he could overlook 

The road and see 

Whatever might appear. 

It happened that about an hour before, friend 
Abel 
Had left the table 

Of an inn, where he had made a halt. 
With horse and wagon. 
To taste a flagon. 
Of malt 

Liquor, and so forth, which, being done. 
He went on. 

Caring no more for twenty ghosts. 
Than if they were so many posts. 

David was nearly tired of waiting; 
His patience was abating ; 
At length, he heard the careless tones 
Of his kinsman's voice, 
And then the noise 
Of wagon-wheels among the stones. 
Abel was quite elated, and was roaring 
With all his might, and pouring 
Out, in great confusion. 
Scraps of old songs made in '''the Revolution." 

His head was full of Bunker Hill and Trenton 
And jovially he went on, 
Scarinqc the whip-po-wills among the trees 



With rhymes like these : — [Sings.] 
*' See the Yankees 
Leave the hill, 

With baggernetts declining, 
With lopped-down hats 
And rusty guns, 

And leather aprons shining." 
' ' See the Yankees — Whoa ! Why, what is that ? *' 
Said Abel, staring like a cat. 
As, slowly on, the fearful figure strode 
Into the middle of the road. . 

" My conscience ! what a suit of clothes \ 
Some crazy fellow, I suppose. 
Hallo ! friend, what's your name ? By the powers 

of gin. 
That's a strange dress to travel in." 
*' Be silent, Abel; for I now have come 
To read your doom ; 

Then hearken, while your fate I now declare. 
I am a spirit " — ''I suppose your are ; 
But you'll not hurt me, and I'll tell you why: 
Here is a fact which you cannot deny; — 
All spirits must be either good 
Or bad — that's understood — 
And be you good or evil, I am sure 
That I'm secure. 

If a good spirit, I am safe. If evil — 
And I don't know but you may be the Devil — 
If that's the case, you'll recollect, I fancy. 
That I am married to your sister Nancy! " 



>;^^<^ 



A BIG MISTAKE, 




ECENTLY our church had a new 
minister. He is a nice, good, so- 
}p \^ ^ ciable gentleman ; but coming 
from a distant State, of course he 
was totally unacquainted with our people. 
Therefore it happened that during his pas- 
toral calls, he made several ludicrous blun- 
ders. One as follows : The other evening 
he called upon Mrs. Haddon. She had just 
lost her husband, and she naturally supposed 
that his visit was relative to the sad occur- 
rence. So, after a few common-places had 



been exchanged, she was not surprised to 
hear him remark : 

" It was a sad bereavement, was it "ot 
Mrs. Haddon ? " 

" Yes," faltered the widow. 

" Totally unexpected ? " 

" Oh, yes ; I never dreamed of it 

" He died in the barn, I suppose." 

" Oh, no ; in the house." 

"Ah, well, I suppose you must 
thought a great deal of him ? " 

" Of course, sir." 



have 



HUMOROUS RECITATIONS. 



267 



This was with vim. The minister looked 
rather surprised, crossed his legs and re- 
newed the conversation. 

" Blind staggers was the disease, I believe." 

" No, sir," snapped the widow. '' Apoplexy." 

" Indeed ; you must have fed him too 
much." 

'^ He was quite capable of feeding himself, 
sir." 

" Very intelligent he must have been. 
Died hard ? " 

" He did." 

'' You had to hit him on the head with an 
axe to put him out of his misery, I am 
told." 

Mrs. Haddon's eyes snapped fire. 

** Whoever told you that did not speak 
the truth," she haughtily uttered. " James 
died naturally." 

" Yes," continued the minister, in a per- 
plexed tone. " He kicked the side of the 
barn down in his last agonies^ didn't he ? " 

"No, sir; he did not." 

"Well, I have been misinformed, I sup- 
pose. How old was he ? " 

" Thirty-five." 

" He did not do much active work. Per- 
haps you are better without him, for you can 
easily supply his place with a better one." 

" Never ! sir, will I find such a good one 
as he." 

" Oh, yes you will ; he had the heaves 
bad, you know." 

'* Nothing of the kind, sir." 

*' Why, I recollect I saw him one day, 
with you on his back, and I distinctly recol- 
lect that he had the heaves, and walked as if 
he had the spring-halt." 

Mrs. H.'s eyes snapped fire, and she stared 
at the reverend visitor as if she imagined he 
was crazy. 

" He could not have had the spring-halt, 
^or he had a cork-leg," she replied. 

" A cork-leg — remarkable ; but really, 
(17-X) 



didn't he have a dangerous trick of suddenly- 
stopping and kicking the wagon all to 
pieces ? " 

" Never, sir ; he was not mad." 

" Probably not. But there were some good 
points about him." 

" I should think so." 

" The way in which he carried his ears, for 
example." 

" Nobody ever noticed that particular 
merit," said the widow, with much asperity, 
" he was warm-hearted, generous and frank." 

" Good qualities," answered the minister. 
'' How long did it take him to go a mile ? " 

" About fifteen minutes." 

" Not much of a goer. Wasn't his hair 
apt to fly ? " 

'* He didn't have any hair, he was bald- 
headed." 

" Quite a curiosity.'^ 

" No, sir ; n?o more of a curiosity than you 
are." 

The minister shifted uneasily, and got red 
in the face ; but he returned to the attack. 

" Did you use the whip much on him ?" 

" Never, sir." 

" Went right along without it, eh ? " 

" Yes." 

" He must have been a good sort of a 
bnae .^ " 

The widow sat down and cried. 

" The idea of your coming here and in- 
sulting me,'' she sobbed. " If my husband 
had lived you would not have done it. Your 
remarks in reference to the poor dead man 
have been a series of insults, and I won't 
stand it." 

He colored, and looked dumfounded. 

"Ain't you Mrs. BHnkers ? " at last he 
stammered, " and has not your gray horse 
just died ? " 

" No ! no ! '^ she cried. ^* I never owned a 
horse, but my husband died a week ago." 

Ten minutes later that minister came out 



258 



HUMOROUS kEClTAtlONS. 



of that house. with the reddest face ever seen 
on mortal man. 

" And to think," he groaned, as he strode 



home, "that I was talking horse to that 
woman all the time — and she was talking 
husband." 



THE DUEL. 

Imitate tlie '*dow-vvow" of the dog and the "me-ow" of the cat; at least, sxj deliver the wortrs a.& to 
convey the idea of the barking and the mewing. 



(•) I HE gingham dog and the calico cat 

t I Side by side on the table sat ; 

-^ 'Twas half-past twelve, and what do you 
think, 
Neither of them had slept a wink ! 

And the old Dutch clock and the Chinese plate 

Seemed to know, as sure as fate, 
There was going to be an awful spat. 

(I wasn't there — I simply state 

What was told to me by the Chinese plate.) 

The gingham dog went " bow-wow-wow ! " 
And the calico cat replied '' me-ow?" 
And the air was streaked for an hour or so 
With fragments of gingham and calicOo 

While the old Dutch clock in the chimney-place 

Up with its hands before its face, 
Por it always dreaded a family row ! 

(Now mind, I'm simply telling you 

What the old Dutch clock declares is true.) 



The Chinese plate looked very blue 
And wailed : " Oh, dear what shall we do ?'' 
But the gingham dog and the calico cat 
Wallowed this way and tumbled that. 
And utilized every tooth and claw 
In the awfulest way you ever saw — 
And, oh ! how the gingham and calico flew I 

(Don't think that I exaggerate 

I got my news from the Chinese plate.) 

Next morning where the two had sat 
They found no trace of the dog or cat; 
And some folks think unto this day 
That burglars stole that pair away ; 

But the truth about that cat and pup 

Is that they ate each other up — 
Now, what do you think of that ? 

(The old Dutch clock, it told mt so, 
And that is how I came to know. ) 

Eugene Field. 




PLAYING JOKES 

UROPEAN guides know about enough 
English to tangle every thing up so 
that a man can make neither head 
nor tail of it. They know their story by 
teart, — the history of every statue, painting, 
cathedral, or other wonder they show you. 
They know it and tell it as a parrot would ; 
and if you interrupt, and throw them off the 
track, they have to go back and begin over 
again. All their lives long, they are em- 
ployed in showing strange things to foreign- 
ers and listening to their bursts of admiration. 



ON A GUIDE. 

After we discovered this, we never went 
into ecstasies any more, we never admired 
anything, we never showed any but impassi- 
ble faces and stupid indifference in the pres- 
ence of the sublimest wonders a guide had 
to display. We had found their weak point. 
We made some of those people savage, at 
times, but we never lost our serenity. 

The doctor asked the questions generally, 
because he can keep his countenance, and 
look more like an inspired idiot, and throw 
more imbecility into the tone of his voice 



HUMOROUS RECITATIONS. 



125S 



than any man that lives. It comes natural 
to him. . 

The guides in Genoa are delighted to se- 
cure an American party, because Americans 
so much wonder, and deal so much in senti- 
ment and emotion before any relic of Colum- 
bus. Our guide there fidgeted about as if 
, he had swallowed a spring mattress. He v/as 
full of animation — full of impatience. He 
said: 

" Come wis me, genteelmen ! — come ! I 
show you ze letter writing by Christopher 
Colombo! — write it himself! — write it wis 
his own hand ! — come ! " 

He took us to the municipal palace. After 
much impressive fumbling of keys and open- 
ing of locks, the stained and aged document 
was spread before us. The guide's eyes 
sparkled. He danced about us and tapped 
the parchment with his finger. 

" What I tell you, genteelmen ! Is it not 
so ? See ! handwriting Christopher Colombo ! 
— write it himself! " 

We looked indifferent, unconcerned. The 
doctor examined the document very deliber- 
ately, during a painful pause. Then he said, 
without any show of interest, 

"Ah — what — what did you say was the 
name of the party who wrote this?" 

" Christopher Colombo I ze great Christo- 
pher Colombo I " 

Another deliberate examination. 

'^ Ah — did he write it himself, or — or how ?" 

" He write it himself! — Christopher Co- 
/ombo ! he's own handwriting, write by him- 
self! " 

Then the doctor laid the document down, 
and said, 

" Why, I have seen boys in America only 
fourteen years old that could write better 
than that." 

" But zis is ze great Christo — " 

" I don't care who it is ! It's the worst 
writing I ever saw. Now you mustn't think 



you can impose on us because we are stran- 
gers. We are not fools, by a good deal. If 
you have got any specimens of penmanship of 
real merit, trot them out ! — and if you haven't, 
drive on ! " 

We drove on. The guide was considerably 
shaken up, but he made one more venture. 
He had something which he thought would 
overcome us. He said, 

"Ah, genteelmen, you come wis me I I 
show you beautiful, oh, magnificent bust 
Christopher Colombo — splendid, grand, mag- 
nificent ! " 

He brought us before the beautiful bust — 
for it zvas beautiful — and sprang back and 
struck an attitude : 

"Ah, look, genteelmen! — beautiful, grand 
— bust Christopher Colombo ! — beautiful bust, 
beautiful pedestal ! " 

The doctor put up his eye-glass-— procured 
for such occasions : 

" Ah — what did you say this gentleman's 
name was ? " 

" Christopher Colombo ! ze great Christo- 
pher Colombo ! " 

" Christopher Colombo — the great Chris- 
topher Colombo. Well, what did he do ? " 

" Discover America ! — discover America, 
oh, ze devil ! " 

" Discover America ? No — that statement 
will hardly wash. We are just from America 
ourselves. We heard nothing about it. 
Christopher Colombo — pleasant name — is — ■ 
is he dead ? " 

" Oh, corpo di Baccho ! — three hundred 
year ! " 

"What did he die of?" 

" I do not know. I cannot tell." 

" Small-pox, think ? " 

" I do not know, genteelmen — I do not 
know what he died of." 

" Measles, likely ? " 

" Maybe — maybe. I do not know — I think 
he die of something." 



260 



HUMOROUS RECITATIONS. 



" Parents living ? '^ 

" Im-possible ! " 

" Ah — which is the bust and which is the 
pedestal ? " 

" Santa Maria ! — sis ze bust ! — sis ze ped- 
estal ! " 

"'Ah, I see, I see — happy combination — 
very happy combination indeed. Is — is this 
the first time this gentleman was ever on a 
bust?" 

That joke was lost on the foreigner; guides 
cannot master the subtleties of the American 
joke. 

We have made it interesting for this Roman 
guide. Yesterday we spent three or four 
hours in the Vatican again, that wonderful 
world of curiosities. We^ came very nea*- 
expressing interest sometimes, even admira- 
tion. It was hard to keep from it. We suc- 
ceeded, though. Nobody else ever did, in 
the Vatican museums. The guide was be- 
wildered, nonplussed. He walked his legs 
off, nearly, hunting up extraordinary things, 
and exhausted all his ingenuity on us, but it 
was a failure ; we never showed any interest 
in anything. He had reserved what he con- 
sidered to be his greatest wonder till the last 
■ — a royal Egyptian mummy, the best pre- 
served in the world, perhaps. He took us 



there. He felt so sure, this time, that some 
of his old enthusiasm came back to him: 

" See, genteelmen ! — Mummy ! Mummy ! ' 

The eye-glass came up as calmly, as delib- 
erately as ever. 

" Ah—what did I understand you to say 
the gentleman's name was ? " 

" Name ? — he got no name ! — Mummy ! — 
'Gyptian mummy ! " 

** Yes, yes. Born here?" 

" No. ' Gyptian mummy." 

" Ah, just so. Frenchman, I presume ? " 

" No ! — not Frenchman, not Roman ! — 
born in Egypta ! " 

" Born in Egypta. Never heard of Egypta 
before. Foreign locality, likely. Mummy — 
mummy. How calm he is, how self-pos- 
sessed ! Is — ah — is he dead ?" 

" Oh, sacj-e bleu ! been dead three thousan' 
year!" 

The doctor turned on him, savagely : 

'' Here, now, what do you mean by such 
conduct as this? Playing us for Chinamen 
because we are strangers and trying to learn! 
Trying to impose your vile second-hand car- 
casses on us ! Thunder and lightning ! I've 
a notion to — to — if you've got a nice fresh 
corpse, fetch him out ! — or, by George, we'll 
brain you ! " Mark Twain. 



A PARODY. 



(^ I HE boy stood on the backyard fence, 
i I whence all but him had fled ; 

^-^ The flames that lit his father's barn shone 
just above the shed. 
One bunch of crackers in his hand, two others in 

his hat, 
With piteous accents loud he cried, ''I never 

thought of that ! " 
A bunch of crackers to the tail of one small dog 

he'd tied; 
The dog in anguish sought the barn, and 'mid its 
ruins died. 



The sparks flew wide and red and hot, they lit 

upon that brat ; 
They fired the crackers in his hand, and e'en 

those in his hat. 
Then came a burst of rattling sound— the boy' 

Where was he gone ? 
Ask of the winds that far around strewed bits of 

meat and bone, 
And scraps of clothes, and balls, and tops, and 

nails, and hooks and yarn — 
The relics of that dreadful boy that burned his 

father's barn. 



HUMOROUS RECITATIONS. 



261. 



MAN'S DEVOTION, 



^^V-AKE BOGGLES was a country youth, 
Who paid his debts and told the trutli 

He labored hard, and seemed content 
With life, no matter how it went, 

'Till with a girl named Sally Skreels 
He fell in love head over heels. 

Now Sally's father wasn't worth 
A dollar or a foot of earth. 

And Jake's paternal parent owed 
Most every other man he knowed ; 

But Jake, who had a valiant heart, 
Vowed that he'd work and get a start, 

And with the help of Sally, dear, 
He'd own a farm within a year. 

Now Sally, who was cold 

And pretty — that is, pretty old. 

Pretended that for her dear Jacob 

The heaviest cross she'd gladly take up ; 

But, really, she cared no more 

For Jake than for the shoes he wore. 

An old maid's matrimonial chances 
Grow very slim as time advances, 

And this explains why Sally Skreels 
Proposed to share Jake's bed and meals. 

They married. Time fled on apace — 
Jake rented old Bill Scroggins' place 

And went to work resolved to make 
A fortune for his Sally's sake. 

Poor soul, he toiled with all his might, 
From early morn till late at night j 



But, ah ! no kind, approving word 
From Sally's lips was ever heard. 

She lay around, chewed wax and sung 

Love songs she'd learned when she was young; 

Read old love letters she had got 
From boobies, long since gone to pot ; 

Yawned o'er a scrap book filled with bosh 
Collected by her Cousin Josh ; 

Trimmed her old hat in various ways 
With all the gew-gaws she could raise. 

In fact, she proved herself to be 
A slip-shod lump of frivolity. 

Poor Jake, he worked and ate cold meals, 
Wore socks with neither toes nor heels, 

Washed his own clothes when Sunday came 
And sewed fresh buttons on the same. 

Got breakfast while his Sally slept. 
Washed up the dishes, dusted, swept — 

There's no use talking, Jacob strove 
To prove how perfect was his love. 

One day Sal ate too many beans. 
Grew sick and went to other scenes. 

From that day forth Jake seldom spoke, 
Or smiled, or worked — his heart was broke. 

In the poor-house now he sits and grieves. 
And wipes his eyes on his threadbare sleeves. 

Moral. — I've told you this to let you see 

What an all-fired fool a man can bee 
Parmenas Hill. 



AUNT POLLY'S *' GEORGE WASHINGTON." 

y^TK)RGE WASHIN'TON!" ' 

From down the hill the answer 
floated up, muffled by the distance i 



Wi} 



-"Ma'm?" 
" Come heah. sah ! 



Aunt Polly folded her arms and leaned 
against the doorway and waited for the ap- 
pearance of her son and heir above the edge 
of the hill on which her cabin stood. 

" George Washin'ton,'' she said, ** you sar- 



262 



HUMOROUS RECITATIONS. 



tainly is de laziest nigger I eber see. How, 
long, sah, does you s'pose you was a-comin' 
up dat hill? You don' no? I don' nether; 
'twas so long I los' all count. You'll bring 
yore mudder's gray har in sorrer to de grabe 
yet, wid yore pokin' and slowness^ see if you 
don'. Heah I is waitin' and a'waitin' on you 
for to go down to ole Mass' Cunningham's 
wid dose tings. Take 'em to de young city 
man boardin' dar, and tell him dese is his 
clean close dat yore old mudder washed, and 
dat dey comes to fifty cents. And if you let 
de grass grow under yore feet, George Wash- 
in'ton, or spiles dese close, or loses dat fifty 
cents, I'll break yore bones, chile, when you 
comes home. You heah dat ? " 

George Washington rested his basket on 
his hip and jogged along. Meditations as to 
what his mother might have for supper on 
the strength of the fifty cents brightened his 
visage and accelerated his steps. His fancy 
revelled in visions of white biscuit and crisp 
bacon floating in its own grease. He was 
gravely weighing the relative merits of spring 
chicken fried and more elderly chicken 
stewed, when — 

There was only one muddy place on 
George Washington's route to town ; that 
was down at the foot of the hill, by the rail- 
road track. Why should his feet slip from 
under him, and he go sliding into the mud 
right there ? It was too bad. It did not 
hurt him, but those shirts and shining collars, 
alas ! Some of them tumbled out, and he 
lifted them up all spattered and soiled. 

He sat down and contemplated the situa- 
tion with an expression of speechless solem- 
nity. He was afraid to go back, and he was 
afraid to go on, but he would rather face the 
" city man " than his mother ; and with a 
sigh that nearly burst the twine string that 
did duty as a suspender, he lifted the linen 
into its place and trudged on. 

The youn^ folks at " Mass' Cunningham's " 



I sent him to the boarder's room, witn many a 

jest on his slowness, and he shook in his 

ragged clothes when the young man lifted 

: the things from the basket to put them 

away. 

He exclaimed in anger at their soiled ap- 
pearance, and, of course, immediately bundled 
them back into the basket. 

'' Here, George," he said, *' take these 
back to your mother to wash, and don't you 
dare, you little vagabond ! ever bring such 
looking things to me again." 

Slowly the namesake of our illustrious 
countryman climbed the hill toward home ; 
slowly he entered and set down his basket. 
The rapidity with which he emerged from 
the door, about three minutes later, might 
have led a stranger to believe that it was a 
different boy. But it was not. It was the 
same George. 

The next afternoon came around, and 
George Washington again departed on his 
errand. No thoughts of supper or good 
things ran rife in his brain to-day. He at- 
tended strictly to business. His mother, 
standing in the door-way, called after him : 
'^ Be keerful, George Washin'ton, 'bout de 
train. I heer'd it at de upper junction jess 
now. It'll be long trectly." 

George Washington nodded and disap- 
peared. He crossed the muddy place in safety, 
and breathed more freely. He was turning to- 
ward town, when something on the railroad 
track caught his eye. There lay the big 
rock that had been on the hill above ever 
since he could remember ; it was right in the 
track. He wondered how the coming train 
would get over it. 

Across on the other side, the hill sloped 
down to a deep ravine. What if the big 
rock pushed the train off! His heart gave a 
great jump. He had heard them talk of an 
accident once, where many people were 
killed. He thought of running to tell sonic- 



HUMOROUS RECITATIONS. 



263 



I 



body, but it was a good way to the next 
house, and just then he heard the train faint- 
ly; it was too late for that. Just above, in 
the direction that the train was coming, was 
a sharp curve. It could not stop if it came 
tearing round that, and on the other side of 
the bend was a very high trestle that made 
him sick to look at. 

The slow, dull boy stood and trembled. 

In a moment more he had set his basket care- 
fully in the bush, and ran around the curve. 
At the edge of the trestle he paused, and then 
dropping on his hands and knees, crept as fast 
as he could over the dizzy height to the other 
side. He staggered to his feet, and ran on. 

When the train dashed in sight, the en- 
gineer spied a small object on the track, 
pointing frantically behind him. The child 
ran away from the track, but continued to 
wave and point and shout " Stop ! " 

The train whistled and slackened. George 
Washington, hatless and breathless, was 
jerked into the engine, where he gasped, " Big 
rock on de track round de curve." The train 
was moved slowly over the trestle and stopped 
in the curve, and there, indeed, was the rock 
that might have hurled them all down to death^ 
but for that ridiculous-looking little boy. 

Meanwhile in the cabin, Aunt Polly was 
restless, and concluded to go down to the 



foot of the hill, and wait for George Wash- 
ington. Behold, then, as she appeared down 
the path, the sight that met her gaze. 

" What's dis boy bin a-doin' ! Fse his 
mother. I is. What's dis mean ? " 

On this identical train was the president of 
the road. 

"Why, auntie," he said, "you have a boy 
to be proud of He crept over the high 
trestle and warned the train, and maybe 
saved all our lives. He is a hero." 

Aunt Polly was dazed. 

"A hearo," she said ; " dat's a big t'ing for 
a little black nigger. George Washin'ton, 
whar's dat basket?" 

" In de bushes, mammy; I'se gwine for to 
get it." 

The train was nearly ready to be off. The 
president called Aunt Polly aside, and she 
came back with a beaming face, and five ten- 
dollar bills clutched in her hands. 

Aunt Polly caught George in her arms." 

" Dey sed you was a hearo, George Wash- 
in'ton, but you is yore mammy's own boy, 
and you shall hab chicken for yore supper 
dis berry night, and a whole poun' cake to- 
morrow, yes, you shall ! " 

And when George Washington returned 
the gentleman his washing, he, like his name- 
sake, was a hero. 



MINE VAMILY. 



IMPLED scheeks, mit eyes off plue, 
Mout' like it was mois'd mit dew, 
^S J Und leedle teeth shust peekin' droo- 
Dot's der baby. 



B 



Curly hed und full of glee. 
Browsers all oudt at der knee — 
He vas peen playin' horss, you see — 
Dot's leedle Otto. 

Von hunderd seexty in der shade, 
Der Oder day ven she was veighed — 



She beats me soon, I vas afraid — 
Dot's mine Gretchen. 

Bare- footed hed, und pooty stoudt, 
Mit grooked legs dot vill bend oudt. 
Fond oif his beer und sauer-kraut — 
Dot's me himself. 

Von schmall young baby, full of fun, 
Von leedle, pright-eyed, roguish son, 
Von frau to greet vhen vork was done — 
Dot's mine vamily. Yawcob Strauss. 



I 



264 



HUMOROUS RECITATIONS. 



AT THE GARDEN GATE, 




HEY lingered at the garden gate, 
The moon was full above ; 
He took her darling hand in his, 
The trembling little dove, 
And pressed it to his fervent lips, 
And softly told his love. 

About her waist he placed his arm. 

He called her all his own ; 
His heart, he said, it ever beat 

For her, and her alone ; 
And he was happier than a king 

Upon a golden throne. 



'^Come weal, come woe, " ih ardent ton 

This youth continued he, 
"As is the needle to the pole. 

So I will constant be ; 
No power on earth shall tear thee, love, 

Away, I swear, from me ! ' ' 

From out the chamber window popped 

A grizzly night-capped head ; 
A hoarse voice yelled : "You, Susar^ Jane, 

Come in and go to bed ! ' ' 
And that was all — it was enough ; 

The young man wildly fled. 



•1 . S(i 



THE MINISTER'S CALL. 



(5 I HE Rev. Mr. Mulkittle having success- 
^ I fully organized a church fair, was a 
very happy man. It had been hinted 
that the congregation were a " little short ^' 
on raising the reverend gentleman's salary, 
hence the proceeds of the fair would more 
than supply the deficiency. 

The good man, after retiring from a pro- 
fitable afternoon's work, during which he 
had assured dyspeptics that potato salad 
would not hurt them, seated himself by the 
library fire, when the '' youngest '^ entered. 

" Where have you been, pa ? " 

" To the fair." 

'' What fair ? " 

" Our church fair." 

" Did they have it out to the fair 
grounds?" 

"No." 

" Where then ? " 

" Down town in our church." 

" Did they have horses and cows ? " 

^' Oh, no ! they didn't show anything." 

" Well, what did they do ? '' 

" Oh, they sold toys and something for 
people to eat." 

" Did they sell it to the poor? " 



" They sold it to anybody who had money." 

" Oh, papa ! it was the feast of the pass- 
over, wasn't it ? " 

Mr. Mulkittle took up a newspaper and 
began to read. 

" Do you want me to be a preacher, pa ? " 

^^ Yes, if the Lord calls you." 

" Did the Lord call you ? " 

" Yes." 

"What did He say?" 

" Told me to go and preach the gospel to 
every living creature." 

*' Didn't tell you to preach to niggers, did 
He?'' 

"That'll do now." 

" You thought the Lord had called you 
again the other day, did you ? " 

" I don't know what you are talking about,'* 
said the minister. 

" Don't you know the other day you told 
ma you had a call to go to some place, and 
you would go if you could get two hundred 
dollars more. Wouldn't the Lord give you 
the two hundred dollars ? " 

" Didn't I tell you to hush, sir ? " said the 
minister, throwing down his paper and glar- 
ing at his son. 



HUMOROUS RECITATIONS. 



265 



'" No, sir; you told me to behave myself." 

" Well, see that you do." 

" I wish you'd tell me — " 

" Tell you what ? " 

'' 'Bout the call" 

" Well, a church in another town wanted 
Me to come there and preach." 

"Why didn't you go?" 

" Couldn't afford it. They didn't pay 
enough money." 

" Call wasn't loud enough, was it? " 

"Well, hardly," asserted Mr. Mulkittle, 
with a smile *' It wasn't loud enough to be 
very interesting." 

" If it had been louder, would you went ? " 

" I should have gone if they had offered 
me more money." 

" It wasn't the Lord that called you that 
time then, was it?" 

" I think not." 

" How much money did the Lord offer 
you ? " 

" Do you see that door ? " 



"No sir; which door?" 

"That one." 

" Yes, sir." 

" Well, go out and shut it." 

" I want to stay in here." 

" You cannot." 

"Why?" 

" Because you are too foolishly inquisitive." 

"What's foolish 'quisitive?" 

" Asking so many questions." 

" How many must I ask ? " 

" None." 

" Then I couldn't talk, could I ? " 

" It would be better for you, if you couldn't 
talk so much." 

" How much must I talk? " 

" Here, I'll give you ten cents now, if 
you'll go away and hush." 

" Call ain't strong enough," said the boy, 
shaking his head. 

" Well, here's a quarter," said the preacher, 
smiling. 

"Call is strong enough ; I'll go." 



LED BY A CALF. 




NE day through the primeval wood 
A calf walked home, as good as calves 

should, 

But made a trail all bent askew, 
A crooked trail, as all calves do. 
Since then two hundred years have fled, 
And, I infer, the calf is dead. 
Bat still he left behind his trail. 
And thereby hangs a mortal tale. 

The trail was taken up next day 
By a lone dog that passed that way, 
And then a wise bell-wether sheep 
Pursued the trail o'er vale and steep, 
And drew the flock behind him, too, 
As good bell-wethers always do. 
And from that day, o'er hill and glade, 
Through those old woods a path was made. 



And many men wound in and out. 
And dodged and turned and bent about. 
And uttered words of righteous wrath, 
Because 'twas such a crooked path; 
But still they followed — do not laugh — 
The first migration of that calf, 
And through the winding woodway stalked 
Because he wabbled when he walked. 

This forest path became a lane, 
That bent and turned and turned again ; 
This crooked lane became a road. 
Where many a poor horse, with his load. 
Toiled on beneath the burning sun, 
And traveled some three miles in one. 
And thus a century and a half 
They trod the footsteps of that calf 

The years passed on in swiftness fleet, 



^e 



HUMOROUS RECITATIONS. 



The road became a village street. 
And this, before men were aware, 
A city's crowded thoroughfare, 
And soon tht central street was this 
Of a renowned metropolis, 

•^nd men two centuries and a half 



Trod in the footsteps of that calf; 
Each day a hundred thousand rout 
Followed the zigzag calf about ; 
And o'er his crooked journey went 
The traffic of a continent. 
A hundred thousand men were led 
By one calf near three centuries dead. 



TOM QOLDY'S LITTLE JOKE- 




6.1 



OM GOLDY was a ladies' man, 
And popular among them, very — 
The reason why ? Because he was 
A maker of confectionery. 

Tom*s peppermints and caramels 
Were always fresh and handy ; 

And so he entertained his guests 
With packages of candy. 

Tom gave a grand reception once — 

It was a sweet occasion — 
The ladies took his caramels 

And needed no persuasion. 



And when he freely passed around 

His most delicious fare. 
To all the damsels there that night 

He gave an equal share. 

But one, and she a gossip, too, 

Was singled out for honor, 
By having twice what others had 

Of sweets bestowed upon her. 

" Twice what you gave us." One and all 
Against Tom laid this charge ; 
Tom slyly winked and said, *' Why not? 
Her mouth is twice as large." 



HOW HEZEKlAtl STOLE THE SPOONS. 

how? No breakfast!" exclaimed 



IN a quiet little Ohio village, many years 
ago, was a tavern where the stages 
always changed, and the passengers 
expected to get breakfast. The landlord of 
the said hotel was noted for his tricks upon 
travelers, who were allowed to get fairly 
se^ited at the tabic, when the driver would 
blow his horn (after taking his " horn "), and 
sing out, "Stage ready, gentlemen!" — where- 
upon the passengers were obliged to hurry 
out to take their seats, leaving a scarcely 
tasted breakfast behind them, for which, how- 
ever, they had to i)ay over fifty cents ! One 
day, when the stage was approaching the 
house of this obliging landlord, a passenger 
said that he had oftrn heard of the landlord\s 
trick, and he was afraid they would not be 
abh? to eat any breakfast. 



''What!- 
the rest. 

" Exactly so gents, and you may as well 
keep your seats and tin." 

" Don't they expect passengers to break- 
fast ?" 

" Oh ! yes ! they expect you to it, but not 
to eat it. I am under the impression that 
there is an understanding between tlie land- 
lord and the driver that for sundry and 
various drinks, etc., the latter starts before 
you can scarcely commence eating." 

" What on airth are you all talking about? 
Ef you calkelate I'm going to pay four and 
ninepence for my breakfast, and not get the 
valee on't you're mistaken," said a voice from 
a back seat, the owner of which was one 
Hezekiah Spaulding — though "tew hum" 



HUMOROUS RECITATIONS. 



267 



they call him " Hez '^ for short. " I'm goin' 
to get my breakfast here, and not pay nary 
red cent till I do." 

" Then you'll be left." 

" Not as you knov/s on, I guess I won't." 

" Well, we'll see," said the other, as the 
stage drove up to the door and the landlord 
ready "to do the hospitable," says — 

"Breakfast just ready, gents! Take a 
wash, gents? Here's water, basins, towels, 
and soap." 

After performing the ablutions, they all 
proceeded to the dining-room, and com- 
menced a fierce onslaught upon the edibles, 
though Hez took his time. Scarcely had 
they tasted their coffee when they heard the 
unwelcome sound of the horn, and the driver 
exclaim, " Stage ready !" Up rise eight 
grumbling passengers, pay their fifty cents, 
and take their seats. 

" All on board, gents ? " inquires the host. 

" One missing," said they. 

Proceeding to the dining-room the host 
rfinds Hez very coolly helping himself to an 
[immense piece of steak, the size of a horse's 
lip. 

'You'll be left, sir! Stage going to 
rstart." 

\Vall, I hain't got nothin' agin it," drawls 
font Hez. 

" Can't wait, sir — better take your seat." 

" I'll be blowed ef I do, nother, till I've 
[got my breakfast ! I paid for it, and I am 
;goin' to get the valee on't it ; and ef you cal- 
kelate I hain't you are mistaken." 

So the stage did start, and left Hez, who 
continued his attack upon the edibles. Bis- 
cuit, coffee, etc., disappeared before the eyes 
of the astonished landlord. 

" Say, squire, them there cakes is 'bout eat 
• — fetch on another grist on 'em. You " (to 
the waiter), " 'nother cup of that ere coffee. 
Pass them eggs. Raise your own pork, 
squire? This is 'mazin' nice ham. Land 



'bout here tolerable cheap, squire ? Hain't 
much maple timber in these parts, hev 
ye ? Dew right smart trade, squire, I cal- 
kelate ? " And thus Hez kept quizzing 
the landlord until he had made a hearty 
meal. 

" Say, squire, now I'm 'bout to conclude 
paying my devowers to this ere table, but 
just give us a bowl of bread and milk to top 
off with ; I'd be much obleeged tew ye." 

So out go the landlord and waiter for the 
bowl, milk, and bread, and set them before 
him. 

" Spoon, tew, ef you please." 

But no spoon could be found. Landlord 
was sure he had plenty of silver ones lying 
on the table when the stage stopped. 

" Say, dew ye ? dew ye think them pas- 
sengers is goin' to pay ye for a breakfuss 
and not git no compensashun ? " 

" Ah ! what ? Do you think any of the 
passengers took them ? " 

*' Dew I think T No, I don't think, but 
I'm sartin. Ef th^y are all as green as yew 
bout here Vm going to locate immediately 
and tew wonst." 

The landlord rushes out to the stable, and 
starts a man off after the stage, which had 
gone about three miles. The man overtakes 
and says something to the driver in a low 
tone. He immediately turns back, and on 
arriving at the hotel Hez comes out, takes 
his seat, and says : 

" How are yew, gents ? I'm glad to see 
yew." 

" Can you point out the man you think 
has the spoons?" asked the landlord. 

'' P'int him out ? Sartenly I ken. Say, 
squire, I paid yew four and ninepence for a 
breakfuss, and I calkelate I got the valee 
on't it ! You'll find them spoons in the cof- 
fee-pot." 

" Go ahead 1 All aboard, driver." 

The landlord stared. 



268 



HUMOROUS RECITATIONS. 



TWO KINDS OF POLUWOQS. 




IGGLE, waggle, how they go, 
Through the sunny waters, 
Swimming high and swimming low, 
Froggie's sons and daughters. 



What a wondrous little tail 
Each black poUy carries. 

Helm and oar at once, and sail, 
That for wind ne'er tarries. 

Lazy little elves ! at morn 

Never in a hurry, 
In the brook where <:hey were born 

Business did not worry. 

When the sun goes in they sink 

To their muddy pillow. 
There they lie and eat and drink 

Of soft mud their fill, oh. 

When has passed the gloomy cloud. 
And the storm is over, 



Up they come, a jolly crowd, 
From their oozy cover. 

Wiggle, waggle, how they go ! 

Knowing nothing better. 
Yet they are destined to outgrow 

Each his dusky fetter. 

Watch ! they now are changing fast, 

Some unduly cherish 
The dark skin whose use is past, 

So they sink and perish. 

Others, of their new-birth pain 

Bitterly complaining, 
Would forego their unknown ^sjain, 

Polliwogs remaining 

There are other folk, to-day. 
Who, with slight endeavor, 
"Give it up," and so they stay 
Polliwogs forever. 

Augusta Moore. 



-•-— =s)®V*<^e 



THE BEST SEWINQ=MACHINE. 



r.' one? Don't say so ! Which did 
you get? 
One of the kind to open and shut ? 
Own it or hire it? How much did you pay? 
Does it go with a crank or a treadle? S-a-y. 
I'm a single man, and somewhat green ; 
Tell me about your sewing-machine." 

'* Listen, my boy, and hear all about it : 
I don't know what I could do without it ; 
I've owned one now for more than a year, 
And like it so well that I call it ' my dear ; ' 
Tis the cleverest thing that ever was seen, 
This wonderful family sewing-machine. 

'' It's none of your angular Wheeler things, 
With steel-shod back and cast-iron wings; 
Its work would bother a hundred of his. 
And worth a thousand ! Indeed it is; 
And has a way — you need not stare — 
Of combing and braiding its own back hair ! 



< Mine is one of the kind to love, 

And wears a shawl and a soft kid glove ; 

Has the merriest eyes and the daintiest foot. 

And sports the charmingest gaiter-boot, 

And a bonnet with feathers, and ribbons, and 

loops. 
With any infinite number of hoops. 

'' None of your patent machines for me, 
Unless Dame Nature's the patentee ; 
I like the sort that can laugh and talk, 
And take my arm for an evening walk ; 
That will do whatever the owner may choose. 
With the slightest perceptible turn of the screws: 

" One that can dance, and — possibly — flirt; 
And make a pudding as well as a shirt; 
One that can sing without dropping a stitch. 
And play the housewife, lady, or witch ; 
Ready to give the sagest advice, 
Or to do up your collars and things so nice. 



HUMOROUS RECITATIONS. 



269 



''What do you think of my machine ? 

A' n't it the best that ever was seen? 

'Tisn't a clumsy, mechanical toy, 

But flesh and blood ! Hear that, my boy ? 

With a turn for gossip and household affairs, 

Which include, you know, the sewing of tears. 



" Tut, tut, don't talk. I see it all— 
You needn't keep winking so hard at the wall : 
I know what your fidgety fumblings mean ; 
You would hke, yourself, a sewing-machine ! 
Well, get one, then — of the same design — 
There are plenty left where I got mine ! " 



HOW THEY SAID QOOD=NIQHT. 



(*) I HEY have had a long evening together 

^ I (three whole hours), but it doesn't 
seem more than five minutes to them. 
Still, the inexorable clock is announcing the 
hour of eleven in the most forcible and un- 
compromising manner. He knows that he 
ought to go, because he must be at the store 
at seven in the morning; she fully realizes 
that his immediate departure is necessary, for 
has not her father threatened that he will 
come down and '' give that young Simpkins a 
piece of his mind if he don't leave by eleven 
o'clock in the future ? " They both under- 
stand that the fatal hour has come, yet how 
they hate to part ! 

"Well, I suppose I must be going," he 
says, with a long, regretful sigh. 

" Yes, I suppose you must," she rejoins. 

Then they gaze into each other's eyes • 
then she pillows her head upon his bosom ; 
then their lips meet, and he mentally swears 
that if he can get his salary raised to eighteen 
dollars a week he will make her Mrs. G. W. 
Simpkins without further agonizing delay. 

The clock looks on with a cynical expres- 
sion on its face. It is doing its duty, and if 
old man Smith comes down stairs and de- 
stroys the peace of mind of this loving couple, 
it will not be its fault. 

He asks her if she will not be happy when 
the time comes that they will never, never 
have to part, and she murmurs an affirmative 
response. Then follow more kissing and 
embracing. If G. W. Simpkins were told 



now that he would ever come home to her at 
2 A.M. with fabulous tales of accidents by 
flood and field, and on the Elevated Railroad, 
would he believe it ? No ; a smile of incre- 
dulity and scorn would wreathe his lips, 
and he would forthwith clasp her to his 
breast. 

He knows that other men do such things, 
but he is not that sort of man. Beside, he 
will have the immense advantage over all 
others of his sex in possessing the only ab- 
solutely perfect specimen of femininity extant. 
He thinks that he will never be happy any- 
where away from her side, and he tells her 
so, and she believes him. 

The clock does not announce the quarter- 
hour, because it is not built that way, but, 
nevertheless, it is now 11.15. They do not 
imagine that it is later than 11.02. He asks 
her if she ever loved any one else, and she 
says " No ; " and then he reminds her of a 
certain Tom Johnson with whom she used to 
go to the theatre, at which she becomes angry 
and says that he (G. W. Simpkins) is a ''real 
mean thing." Then G. W. S. arises with an 
air of dignity, and says that he is much 
obliged to her for her flattering opinion ; and 
she says that he is quite welcome. 

Just then a heavy foot-fall is heard up-stairs. 
She glances at the clock, and perceives to 
her dismay that it is 11.20. She had ex- 
pected to have a nice little quarrel, followed 
by the usual reconciliation, but there is no 
time for that now. She throws her arms 



270 



HUMOROUS RECITATIONS. 



around his neck, and whispers in great agita- 
tion that she beheves pa is coming. G. W. 
S. quakes inwardly, for her pa is about four 
sizes larger than himself, and of a cruel, vin- 
dictive nature. But he assumes an air of 
bravado, and darkly hints at the extreme 
probability that the room in which they stand 
will be the scene of a sanguinary conflict in 
the immediate future, should any one venture 
to cross his path. Then she begs him to re- 
member that papa, notwithstanding his faults, 
is still her father. At this he magnanimously 
promises to spare the old man. 

But the footstep is heard no more ; papa 
does not appear. G. W. S. puts on his over- 
coat. Then the couple stand by the door 
and settle the Tom Johnson matter. She 
says she never cared for Tom Johnson, and 
he says he knows it and that he (G. W. S., 
you understand) is a brute, and that she is an 
angel, and that he will never again refer to the 
aforesaid Tom Johnson. He will, though, the 
very next time they meet, just as he has every 
time they have met for the last two months. 



While they are talking the clock strikes 
the half hour, but they don't hear it. The 
Johnson business disposed of, they discuss 
their future prospects, vow eternal fidelity, 
compare themselves to all the famous lovers 
of history (to none of whom they bear the 
slightest resemblance), make an appoint- 
ment for Wednesday evening (on which occa- 
sion G. W. S. will have the extreme feli- 
city of spending two-thirds of his week's 
salary for theatre tickets and a supper at the 
Brunswick), and indulge in the usual oscula- 
iJ on. 

Suddenly the clock begins to strike twelve, 
ctnd at the same moment a hoarse masculine 
cough is heard in the room overhead. The 
fatal moment has really and truly arrived this 
time. One more kiss, one more embrace, 
and they part — he to go home and oversleep 
in the morning, and be docked fifty cents at 
the store ; she to receive the reproaches of 
an irate parent, who hasn't been young for 
such a long time himself that he has forgot- 
ten all about it. 



JOSIAR'S COURTING, 



I NEVER kin forgit the day 
That we went out a walkin' 
And sot down on the river bank, 
And kept on hours a-talkin'; 
He twisted up my apron string, 

An' folded it together, 
An' said he thought for harvest-time 
'Twas cur'us kind o' weather. 

The sun went down as we sot there — 

Josiar seemed uneasy, 
An' mother, she began to call ; 

" Loweezy ! Come, Loweezy ! " 
An' then Josiar spoke right up, 

As I wos just a startin' 



An' said, " Loweezy, what's the use 
Of us two ever partin ? ' ' 

It kind o' took me by surprise, 

An' yet I knew 'twas comin* — 
I'd heard it all the summer long 

In every wild bee's hummin' ; 
I meant to hide my love from him, 

But seems as if he knew it ; 
I'd studied out the way I'd act. 

But la! I couldn't do it. 

It darker grew as we sot there, 
But Josiar seemed quite easy, 

And mother had to call again, 
** Loweezy ! Come, Loweezy I " 



Pathetic Recitations. 



-^••°^-^?^ 



It is a common saying that the public 
speaker who can draw both smiles and tears 
from his audience is the highest type of ora- 
tor. The same is true of the reciter. If you 
would awaken pathetic emotions in the hearts 
of your hearers, you must have recitations 
suited to this purpose, tender in sentiment 
and full of feeling. A charming collection 
of such pieces is here furnished. 



Put yourself fully into the spirit of each 
selection. Do not deliver a pathetic recita- 
tion in a cold, unfeeling manner. Look well 
to the tones of your voice and facial expres- 
sion. If you feel the words you are uttering, 
the subtle influence cannot fail to move those 
who hear you. You cannot put on an ap- 
pearance of feeling ; give reality to all the 
emotions your words express. 



PLAY SOFTLY, BOYS. 



Observe the Irish brogue 

I'M thinkin' av the goolden head 
I nestled to my breast ; 
They're telling me, '' He's betther off." 
And sayin', ''God knows best." 
But, oh, my heart is breakin' 

And the wild, wild waves at play 
Where the goolden head is buried low- 
Close to Manila Bay. 

I'm thinkin' av the roguish eyes 

Of tender Irish gray ; 
They're tellin* me, ''He's betther off," 

And, " I'll thank God some day." 
But, oh, my heart is breakin' 

And the wild, wild waves at play. 
And my baby's eyes all closed in death 

Close to Manila Bay. 

I'm thinkin' av the little hands 

That's fastened 'round my heart j 
They're tellin' me, ''Have courage, 

Sure, life's to meet and part." 
But, oh, my heart is breakin' 

\.nd the wild, wild waves at play, 
A.nd my baby's hands so stiff and cold 

Close to Manila Bay. 



in this selection. 

I'm thinkin' av the noble boy 

That kissed my tears away ; 
They're teilin' me, " How brave he was. 

And foremost in the fray ! ' ' 
But, oh, my heart is breakin' 

And the wild, wild waves at play. 
And my baby and my soldier dead-^ 

Close to Manila Bay. 

Play softly, boys, I know you will. 

Remembering he's away — 
My boy, who proudly marched with ye 

On last St. Patrick's Day. 
Play softly, boys, I know ye will. 

And the wild, wild waves at play, 
And your comrade lying lonely. 

Close to Manila Bay. 

Play softly, boys, I know ye will. 

And hush this pain to rest — 
And soothe the bitter agony 

That's tearin' at my breast. 
How can ye march at alb at all. 

And the wild, wild waves at play, 
And the boy who loved ye lying cold — 

Close to Manila Bay? 

Teresa Beatrice O'Hari, 
271 



'^72 



PATHETIC RECITATIONS. 
IN THE BAGGAGE COACH AHEAD, 




N a dark stormy night, as the train rattled 
on, 
All tha passengers had gone to bed, 
Except one young man with a babe on his 
arm, 
Who sat there with a bowed-down head. 

The innocent one commenced crying just then, 
As though its poor heart would break. 

One angry man said, " Make that child stop 
its noise. 
For you're keeping all of us awake." 

'•Put it out," said another; "don't keep it in 
here, 
We've paid for our berths and want rest." 
But never a word said the man with the child, 
As he fondled it close to his breast. 

"Where is its mother? Go, take it to her — " 

This a lady then softly said. 
*'I wish that I could," was the man's sad reply, 
- " But she's dead in the coach ahead." 

Every eye filled with tears when his story he 
told, 
Of a wife who was faithful and true. 



He told how he's saved up his earnings for years 
Just to build up a home for two. 

How, when Heaven had sent them this sweet 
little babe, 
Their young happy lives were blessed. 
In tears he broke down when he mentioned her 
name. 
And in tears tried to tell them the rest. 

Every woman arose to assist with the child ; 

There were mothers and wives on that train, 
And soon was the little one sleeping in peace. 

With no thoughts of sorrow and pain. 

Next morn' at a station he bade all good-bye. 

" God bless you," he softly said. 
Each one had a story to tell in their horiie 

Of the baggage coach ahead. 

While the train rolled onward a husband sat 

in tears, 
Thinking of the happiness of just a few short 

years. 
For baby's face brings pictures of a cherished 

hope that's dead ; 
But baby's cries can't wake her in the baggage 

coach ahead. 



THE MISSING ONE, 



The deep pathos of these lines should be expressed by a trembling utterance. Put tears in your voice, 
if you can do this difficult thing. All the life and spirit are taken out of the old man as he thinks of the 
regiment returning without his son, whose desolate grave is somewhere on the Cuban shore. 



I DON'T think I'll go into town to see the 
boys come back ; 
My bein' there would do no good in all 
that jam and pack ; 
There 11 be enough to welcome them — to cheer 

them when they come 
A-marchm' bravely to the time that's beat upon 

the drum — 
They'll never miss me in the crowd — not one of 

*em will care 
If, when the cheers are ringin' loud, I'm not 
among them there. 



I went to see them march away — I hollered with 
the rest. 

And didn't they look fine, that day, a-marchin' 
four abreast, 

With my boy James up near the front, as hand- 
some as could be, 

And wavin' back a fond farewell to mother and 
to me ! 

I vow my old knees trimbled so, when they had 
all got by, 

I had to jist set down upon the curbstone there 
and cry. 



PATHETIC RECITATIONS. 



273 



And now they're comin' home again ! The 

record that they won 
Was sich as shows we still have men, when men's 

work's to be done ! 
There wasn't one of 'em that flinched, each feller 

stood the test — 
Wherever they were sent they sailed right in and 

done their best ! 
They didn't go away to play — they knowed what 

was in store — 
But there's a grave somewhere to-day, down on 

the Cuban shore ! 



I guess that I'll not go to town to see the boys 

come in; 
I don't jist feel like mixin' up in all that crush 

and din ! 
There'll be enough to welcome them — to cheer 

them when they come 
A-marchin' bravely to the time that's beat upon 

the drum, 
And the boys'll never notice — not a one of 'em 

will care, 
For the soldier that would miss me ain't a goin' 

to be there ! S. E. Kiser. 



IN MEMORIAM. 

It was a strange coincidence, and a fitting end for a noble old seaman who had given his life to the 
service of his country, that Rear-Admiral W. A. Kirkland, U. S. N., and once commandant at Mare Island, 
should die the day peace was declared between our country and Spain. In strong tones give the command, 
"Cease firing!'' Point to "the red flames," "the gray smoke-shrouded hills," "the weary troops," "the 
armored squadron," etc. On the first two lines of the last verse use Figure ii of Typical Gestures. 
ii 




firing ! " Lo, the bugles call — 
Cease!" and the red flame dies 
away. 
The thunders sleep; along the gray 
Smoke-shrouded hills the echoes fall, 

'Cease firing ! " Close the columns fold 
Their shattered wings ; the weary troops 
Now stand at ease ; the ensign droops ; 

The heated chargers' flanks turn cold. 

Cease firing ! " Down, with point reversed, 
The reeking, crimson sabre drips ; 
Cool grow the fevered cannon's lips— 

Their wreathing vapors far dispersed. 



'•' Cease firing 1 " From the sponson's rim 
The mute, black muzzles frown across 
The sea, where swelling surges toss 
The armored squadrons, silent, grim. 

' Cease firing ! " Look, white banners show 
Along the groves \i^here heroes sleep — • 
Above the graves where men lie deep — ■ 
In pure, soft flutterings of snow. 

' Cease firing ! " Glorious and sweet 
For country 'tis to die — and comes 
The Peace — and bugles blow and drum* 
Are sounding out the Last Retreat. 

Thomas R. Gregory, U. S, N. 



THE DYINQ NEWSBOY, 



3^^N an attic bare and cheerless, Jim, the news- 
I boy, dying lay, 

JL On a rough but clean straw pallet, at the 
fading of the day; 
Scant the furniture about him, but bright flowers 

were in the room. 
Crimson phloxes, waxen lilies, roses laden with 
perfume. 
(i8-x) 



On a table by the bedside, open at a wdl-worn 

page. 
Where the mother had been reading, lay a Bible 

stained by age. 
Now he could not hear the verses; he was flighty, 

and she wept 
With her arms around her youngest, who close i^ 

her side had crept. 



274 



PATHETIC RECITATIONS. 



Blacking boots and selling papers, in all weathers 

day by day, 
Brought upon poor Jim consumption, which was 

eating life away. 
And this cry came with his anguish for each 

breath a struggle cost, 
•"'Ere's the morning Sun and ^ Erald — latest 

news of steamship lost. 

Papers, mister? Morning papers ? " Then the 

cry fell to a moan, 
Which was changed a moment later to another 

frenzied tone : 
''Black yer boots, sir? Just a nickel! Shine 

'em like an evening star. 
It grows late. Jack ! Night is coming. Evening 

papers, here they are ! " 



Soon a mission teacher entered, and approached 

the humble bed ; 
Then poor Jim's mind cleared an instant, with 

his cool hand on his head. 
''Teacher," cried he, "I remember what you 

said the other day, 
Ma's been reading of the Saviour, and through 

Him I see my way. 

" He is with me ! Jack, I charge you of our 

mother take good care 
When Jim's gone ! Hark ! boots or papers, 

which will I be over there? 
Black yer boots, sir ? Shine 'em right up ! Papers ) 

Read God's book instead, 
Better'n papers that to die on ! Jack " one 

gasp, and Jim was dead ! 

Mrs. Emily Thornton. 



COALS OF FIRE." 



fe I HE coffin was a plain one — no flowers 
^ I on its top, no lining of rose-white 
satin for the pale brow, no smooth 
ribbons about the coarse shroud. The brown 
hair was laid decently back, but there was no 
crimped cap, with its neat tie beneath the 
chin. " I want to see my mother," sobbed a 
poor child, as the city undertaker screwed 
down the top. " You can't : get out of the 
way^ boy ! Why don't somebody take the 
brat away ? " '' Only let me see her for one 
minute/* cried the hapless orphan, clutching 
the side of the charity box. And as he 
gazed into that rough face .tears streamed 
down the cheek on which nox:hildish bloom 
every lingered. Oh, it was pitiful to hear 
him cry, " Only once! let me see my mother 
only once ! " 

Brutally, the hardhearted monster struck 
the boy away, so that he reeled with the 
blow. ^ For a moment the boy stood panting 
with grief and rage, his blue eyes expanded, 
his lips sprang apart; a fire glittered through 
his tears as he raised his puny arm, and with 



a most unchildish accent screamed, " When 
I am a man I'll kill you for that ! " A coffin 
and a heap of earth was between the mother 
and the poor forsaken child ; a monument 
stronger than granite built in his boy-heart 
to the memory of a heartless deed. 

The court house was crowded to suffoca- 
tion. *' Does any one appear as this man's 
counsel?" asked the judge. There was 
silence when he finished, until, with lips 
tightly pressed together, a look of strange 
recognition blended with haughty reserve 
upon his handsome features, a young man, a 
stranger, stepped forward to plead for the 
erring and the friendless. The splendor of 
his genius entranced, convinced. The man 
who could not find a friend was acquitted. 

^' May God bless you, sir! I cannot." "I 
want no thanks," replied the stranger, with 
icy coldness. " I — I believe you are unknown 
to me." " Man, I will refresh your memory. 
Twenty years ago you struck a broken- 
hearted boy away from his poor mother's 
coffin ; I was that poor, miserable boy/' 



PATHETIC RECITATIONS. 



275 



" Have you rescued me, then, to take my 
life ? " ** No ! I have a sweeter revenge: I 
liave saved the life of a man whose brutal 



deed has rankled in my breast for twenty 
years. Go, and remember the tears of a 
friendless child." 



>-^ 



DIRGE OF THE DRUMS. 

The effect produced by this selection will depend very much upon the manner in which you speak 
the constantly repeated word, " Dead ! " It should be spoken with subdued force, rather slowly, and 
in a low tone. Show intense emotion, but not in a boisterous manner. 



M 



EAD! Dead! Dead! 

To the solemn beat of the last re- 
treat 

That falls like lead, 
Bear the hero now to his honored rest 
With the badge of courage upon his breast, 
While the sun sinks down in the gleaming West — 
Dead ! Dead ! Dead ! 

Dead ! Dead ! Mourn the dead ! 
While the mournful notes of the bugles float 
Across his bed. 



And the guns shall toll on the vibrant air 
The knell of the victor lying there — 
'Tis a fitting sound for a soldier's prayer- 
Dead ! Dead! Dead 

Dead! Dead! Dead! 
To the muffled beat of thv- lone retreat 

And speeding lead, 
Lay the hero low to his well-earned rest, 
In the land he loved, on her mother breast, 
While the sunlight dies in the darkening West- 
Dead ! Dead ! Dead ! Ralph Alton. 



THE OLD DOG'S DEATH POSTPONED. 

Any one at all famihar with farm hfe knows that when the old dog becomes bhnd, toothless and 
helpless it is the sad but humane duty of the farmer to put an end to his sufferings ; it is generally 
done by taking him off to the woods and shooting him. Although the new dog quickly wins his place 
in our affections, the old is not soon forgotten, and more than one story begins: "You remember how 
old Fide.'' Give strong expression in the last verse to the old man's sudden change of purpose. 




|OME along old chap, yer time's 'bout up, 
We got another brindle pup ; 

I 'lows it's tough an' mighty hard. 
But a toothless dog's no good on guard. 
So trot along right after me, 
An' I'll put yeh out o' your misery. 

Now, quit yer waggin' that stumpy tail — 
We ain't a-goin' fer rabbit er quail; 
'Sides, you couldn't pint a bird no more, 
Yer old an' blind an' stiff an' sore, 
; An' that's why I loaded the gun to-day- - 
Yer a-gittin' cross an' in the way. 

I been thinkin' it over ; 'taint no fun. 

X don't like to do it, but it's got to be done ; 



Got sort of a notion, you know, too, 
The kind of a job we're goin' to do, 
Else why would yeh hang back that-a-way, 
Yeh ain't ez young ez yeh once wuz, hey ! 

Frisky dog in them days, I note, 

When yeh nailed the sneakthief by the throat j 

Can't do that now, an' there ain't no need 

A-keepin' a dog that don't earn his feed 

So yeh got to make way for the brindle pup ; 

Come along, old chap, yer time's 'bout up. 

We'll travel along at an easy jog — 
Course, you don't know, bein' only a dog; 
But T can mind when you wuz sprier, 
' Wakin' us up when the barn caught fire — 



276 



PATHETIC RECITATIONS. 



It don' I seem possible, yet I know 
That wuz close onto fifteen years ago. 

]\Iy, but yer hair wuz long an' thick 
When yeh pulled little Sally out o' the crick ; 
An' it came in handy that night in the storm, 
We coddled to keep each other warm. 
Purty good dog, I'll admit — but, say, 
What's the use o' talkin' yeh had yer day. 

I'm hopin' the children won't hear the crack, 
Er what' 11 I say when I get back ? 
They'd be askin' questions, I know their talk, 
An' I*d have to lie 'bout a chicken hawk j 



But the sound won't carry beyond this hill, 
All done in a minute — don't bark, stand still, 

There, that'll do ; steady, quit lickin' my hand, 
What's wrong with this gun, I can't under- 
stand ; 
I'm jest ez shaky ez I can be — 
Must be the agey's the matter with me. 
An' that stitch in the back — what! gitten' ola, 
too — 



i 



The — dinner — bell's- 
you. 



r i ngi n ' — fer — me — 2 
Charles E. Baer. 



THE FALLEN HERO. 




E went to the war in the morning — 
The roll of the drums could be heard. 
But he paused at the gate with his 
mother 

For a kiss and a comforting word. 
He was full of the dreams and ambitions 

That youth is so ready to weave, 
And proud of the clank of his sabre 
And the chevrons of gold on his sleeve. 

He came from the war in the evening — 
The meadows were sprinkled with snow. 

The drums and the bugles were silent, 
And the steps of the soldier were slow. 



He was wrapped in the flag of his country 
When they laid him away in the mould. 

With the glittering stars of a captain 
Replacing the chevrons of gold. 

With the heroes who slept on the hillside 

He lies with a flag at his head. 
But, blind with the years of her weeping. 

His mother yet mourns for her dead. 
The soldiers who fall in the battle 

May feel but a moment of pain, 
But the women who wait in the homesteads 

Must dwell with the ghosts of the slain. 

Minna Irving. 



THE SOLDIER'S WIFE. 



~Y^| E offered him^self for the land he loved, 
L^J But what shall we say for her? 
1^1 He gave to his country a soldier's life; 
^^"^ 'Twas dearer by far to the soldier's 
wife. 
All honor to-day to her ! 

He went to the war while his blood was hot. 

But what shall we say of her ? 
He saw himself through the battle's flame 
A hero's reward on the scroll of fame; 

What honor is due to her? 



He offered himself, but his wife did more, 

All honor to-day to her ! 
For dearer than life was the gift she gave 
In giving the life she would die to save ; 

What honor is due to her? 

He gave up his life at his country's call- 

But what shall we say of her? 
He offered himself as a sacrifice, 
But she is the one who pays the price, 

All honor we owe to her. 

Elliott Flower. 



PATHETIC RECITATIONS. 

BREAK THE NEWS GENTLY." 



277 



v^ I HERE on the ground he lay, a fireman so 

He'd risked his life, he'd fallen, a little 
child to save ; 
Life's stream was ebbing fast away, his comrades 
all stood by, 
m A-nd listened to his dying words, while tears be- 
dimmed each eye : 

'' Break the news to mother gently, tell her how 

her brave son died, 
Tell her that he did his duty, as in life he ever 

tried ; 
Treat her kindly, boys, a friend be to her when 

I'm dead and gone. 
Break the news to mother gently, do not let her 

weep or mourn." 

There in her home she rests, that mother old and 

gray. 
She lost a son, but others — they took his place 

that day; 
And nobly do they care for her and honor her 

gray head. 
In mem'ry of their comrade and the last words 

that he said : 



" Break the news to mother gently, tell her how 

her brave son died. 
Tell her that he did his duty, as in life he ever 

tried ; 
Treat her kindly, boys, a friend be to her when 

I'm dead and gone. 
Break the news to mother gently, do not let her 

weep or mourn." 

There on the wall it hangs, within the engine- 
room. 

The picture of the bravest lad that ever faced his 
doom; 

And, as they point it out and speak the virtues of 
the dead, 

They tell about that awful night and the last 
words that he said : 

''Break the news to mother gently, tell her how 

her brave son died, 
Tell her that he did his duty, as in life he ever 

tried ; 
Treat her kindly, boys, a friend be to her when 

I'm dead and gone. 
Break the news to mother gently, do not let her 

weep or mourn." 



ON THE OTHER TRAIN. 

fHERE, Simmons, you blockhead ! 
Why didn't you trot that old woman 
aboard her train ? She'll have to 
wait now until the 1.05 a.m." 
" You didn't tell me." 

*' Yes, I did tell you. 'Twas only your 
confounded stupid carelessness." 

"She " 

" S/ie/ You fool ! What else could you 



expect of her ! Probably she hasn't any wit; 
besides, she isn't bound on a very jolly 
journey^got a pass up the road to the poor- 
house. I'll go and tell her, and if you for- 
get her to-night, see if I don't make mince- 
meat of you !" ancj our worthy ticket-agent 



shook his fist menacingly at his subordi- 
nate. 

*' YouVe missed your train, marm," he re- 
marked, coming forward to a queer-looking 
bundle in the corner. 

A trembling hand raised the faded black 
veil, and revealed the sv/eetest old face I 
ever saw. 

" Never mind," said a quivering voice. 

" 'Tis only three o'clock now ; you'll have 
to wait until the night train, which doesn't 
go up until 1.05." 

" Very well, sir ; I can wait." 

"Wouldn't you like to go to some hotel? 
Simmons will show you the way/' 



278 



PATHETIC RECITATIONS. 



"No, thank you, sir. One place is as 
good as another to me. Besides, I haven't 
any money." 

" Very well," said the agent, turning away 
indifferently. " Simmons will tell you when 
it's time." 

All the afternoon she sat there so quiet 
that I thought sometimes she must be asleep, 
but when I looked more closely I could see 
every once in a while a great tear rolling 
down her cheek, which she would wipe away 
hastily with her cotton handkerchief. 

The depot was crowded and all was bustle 
and hurry until the 9.50 train going east 
came due ; then every passenger left except 
the old lady. It is very rare indeed that 
any one takes the night express, and almost 
always, after I have struck ten, the depot 
becomes silent and empty. 

The ticket agent put on his great coat, and 
bidding Simmons keep his wits about him 
for once in his life, departed for home. 

But he had no sooner gone than that func- 
tionary stretched himself out upon the table, 
as usual, and began to snore vociferously. 
Then it was I witnessed such a sight as 
I never had before and never expect to 
again. 

The fire had gone down — it was a cold 
night, and the wind howled dismally outside. 
The lamps grew dim and flared, casting 
weird shadows upon the wall. By and by I 
heard a smothered sob from the corner, then 
another. I looked in that direction. She 
had risen from her seat, and oh ! the look of 
agony on the poor, pinched face. 

** I can't believe it," she sobbed, wringing 
her thin, white hands. " Oh ! I can't be- 
lieve it 1 My babies! my babies ! how often 
have I held them in my arms and kissed 
them ; and liow often they used to say back 
to me, ' Ise love you, mamma;' and now, 
O God ! they've turned against me. Where 
am I going ? To the poor-house ! No I no ! 



no! I cannot! I will not! Oh, the dis- 
grace ! " 

And sinking upon her knees, she sobbed 
out in prayer : " O God ! spare me this and 
take me hom.e ! O God, spare me this dis- 
grace; spare me !" 

The wind rose higher, and swept through 
the crevices icy cold. How it moaned and 
seemed to sob like something human that is 
hurt. I began to shake, but the kneeling 
figure never stirred. The thin shawl had 
dropped from her shoulders unheeded. Sim- 
mons turned over and drew his heavy blanket 
more closely around him. 

Oh, how cold! Only one lamp remained, 
burning dimly ; the other two had gone out for 
want of oil. I could hardly see, it was so dark. 

At last she became quieter, and ceased to 
moan. Then I grew drowsy, and kind of 
lost the run of things after I had struck 
twelve, when some one entered the depot 
with a bright light. I started up. It was 
the brightest light I ever saw, and seemed to 
fill the room full of glory. I could see 'twas 
a man. He walked to the kneeling figure 
and touched her upon the shoulder. She 
started up and turned her face wildly around. 
I heard him say : 

*' 'Tis train time, ma'am. Come!" 

A look of joy came over her face. 

" I'm ready," she whispered. 

" Then give me your pass, ma'am." 

She reached him a worn old book, which 
he took and from it read aloud : 

" Come unto me all ye that labor and are 
heavy laden, and I will give you rest." 

" That's the pass over our road, ma'am. 
Are you ready?*' 

The light died away and darkness fell in 
its place. My hand touched the stroke of 
one. Simmons awoke with a start, and 
snatched his lantern. The whistles sounded 
down brakes; the train was due. He ran to 
the corner and shook the old woman. 



< 



PATHETIC RECITATIONS. 



279 



" Wake up, marm ; 'tis train time." 

But she never heeded. He gave one look 
at the white, set face, and dropping his lan- 
tern, fled. 

The up-train halted, the conductor shouted 
"All aboard," but no one made a move that 
way. 

The next morning, when the ticket agent 
came, he found her frozen to death. They 
whispered among themselves, and the cor- 



oner made out the verdict " apoplexy," and it 
was in some way hushed up. 

They laid her out in the depot, and adver- 
tised for her friends, but no one came. So, 
after the second day they buried her. 

The last look on the sweet old face, lit upf 
with a smile so unearthly, I keep with me 
yet; and when I think of the occurrence of that 
night, I know that she went out on the other 
train, that never stopped at the poor-house. 



SOME TWENTY YEARS AGO. 

It were well worth while to insert this wonderfully beautiful and pathetic selection here to preserve it in 
enduring type, but it has the additional merit of being a most excellent piece for recitation. The author's 
assumed name was " James Pipes, of Pipes ville." His real name you may see below the lines. 

I'VE wandered to the village, Tom; I've sat 
beneath the tree 
Upon the school house playground that 
sheltered you and me ; 
But none were there to greet me, Tom ; and few 

were left to know. 
Who played with us upon the green, some twenty 
years ago. 



The grass is jnst as green, Tom ; bare-footed 

boys at play 
Were sporting, just as we did then, wdth spirits 

just as gay. 
But the "master" sleeps upon the hill, which 

coated o'er with snow, 
Afforded us a sliding place, some twenty years 

ago. 

The old school house is altered now, the benches 

are replaced 
By new ones, very like the same our penknives 

once defaced; 
But the same old bricks are in the wall; the bell 

swings to and fro ; 
It's music just the same, dear Tom, 'twas twenty 

years ago. 

The boys were playing some old game beneath 

that same old tree ; 
I have forgot the name just now — you've played 

the same with me 



On that same spot; 'twas played with knives, by 

throwing so and so ; 
The loser had a task to do — these twenty years 

ago. 

The river's running just as still ; the willows on 
its side 

Are larger than they were, Tom ; the stream ap- 
pears less wide ; 

But the grape-vine swing is ruined now, where 
once we played the beau. 

And swung our sweethearts — pretty girls — ^just 
twenty years ago. 

The spring that bubbled 'neath the hill close by 

the spreading beach 
Is very low — 'twas then so high that we could 

scarcely reach ; 
And kneeling down to get a drink, dear Tom, I 

started so. 
To see how sadly I am changed, since twenty 

years ago. 

Near by that spring, upon an elm, you know I 

cut your name ; 
Your sweetheart's just beneath it, Tom, and you 

did mine the same ; 
Some heartless wretch has peeled the bark ; 'twas 

dying sure but slow. 
Just as she died, whose name you cut, some 

twenty years ago. 



280 



PATHETIC RECITATIONS 



My lids liave long been dry, Tom, but tears 

came to my eyes ; 
I thought of her I loved so well, those early 

broken ties ; 
I visited the old church yard, and took some 

flowers to strow 
Upon the graves of those we loved, some twenty 

years ago. 



Some are in the church-yard laid, some sleep 

beneath the sea ; 
But few are left of our old class, excepting you 

and me ; 
And when our time shall come, Tom, and we 

are called to go, 
I hope they'll lay us where we played, just 

twenty years ago. 

Stephen Marsell. 



ONLY A SOLDIER, 



Q\ tNARMED and unattended walks the Czar, 
y 1 I Through Moscow's busy street one 

ICjI winter's day. 

The crowd uncover as his face they 
see — 
"God greet the Czar ! ' ' they say. 

Along his path there moved a funeral. 
Gray spectacle of poverty and woe, 

A wretched sledge, dragged by one weary man. 
Slowly across the snow. 

And on the sledge, blown by the winter wind, 
Lay a poor coffin, very rude and bare. 

And he who drew it bent before his load, 
With dull and sullen air. 

The Emperor stopped and beckoned on the man ; 

" Who is 't thou bearest to the grave ?" he said. 
*' Only a soldier, sire ! " the short reply, 

" Only a soldier, dead.'* 



" Only a soldier ! " musing, said the Czar ; 

" Only a Russian, who was poor and brave. 
Move on. I follow. Such a one goes not 

Unhonored to his grave." 

He bent his head, and silent raised his cap ; 

The Czar of all the Russias, pacing slow, 
Following the coffin, as again it went 

Slowly across the snow. 

The passers of the street, all wondering, 

Looked on that sight, then followed silently; 

Peasant and prince, the artisan and clerk, 
All in one company. 

Still, at they went the crowd grew ever more, 
Till thousands stood around the friendless 
grave, 

Led by that princely heart, who royal, true, 
Plonored the poor and brave. 



*~f==S)(t 



THE PILGRIM FATHERS. 




UK jjilgrim fathers — where are they? 
Tiie waves that brought them o'er 
Still roll in the bay, and throw their spray, 
As they break along the shore ; 
Still roll in the bay, as they rolled that day 

When the Mayflower moored below, 
When the sea around was black with storms, 
And white the shore with snow. 

The i)ilgrim fathers are at rest : 
When summer's throned on high, 



And the world's warm breast is in verdure dressetl. 

Go stand on the hill where they lie : 
The earliest ray of the golden day 

On that hallowed spot is cast, 
And the evening sun, as he leaves the wofld, 

Ivooks kindly on that spot last. 

The land is holy where they fought, 

And holy where they fell ; 
For by their blood that land was bought, 

The land they loved so well, 



PATHETIC RECITATIONS. 



281 



Then glory to that valiant band, 

The honored saviours of the land ! 

Oh ! few and v^^eak their numbers were — 

A handful of brave men ; 
But to their God they gave their prayer, 
} And rushed to battle then. 
The God of battles heard their cry, 
Aijd sent them the victory. 

They left the ploughshare in the mould. 

Their flocks and herds without a fold, 

The sickle in the unshorn grain, 

The corn half garnered on the plain, 

And mustered, in their simple dress, 

For wrongs to seek a stern redress ; 

To right those wrongs, come weal, come woe, 

To perish, or o'ercome their foe. 



And where are ye, O fearless men, 

And where are ye to-day? 
I call: the hills reply again, 

That ye have passed away ; 
That on old Bunker's lonely height. 

In Trenton, and in Monmouth ground, 
The grass grows green, the harvest bright, 

Above each soldier's mound. 

The bugle's wild and warlike blast 

Shall muster them no more ; 
An army now might thunder past. 

And they not heed its roar. 
The starry flag, 'neath which they fought 

In many a bloody fray. 
From their old graves shall rouse them not. 

For they have passed away. 



'■^■•°^-^i^ 



MASTER JOHNNY'S NEXT=DOOR NEIGHBOR. 



(jHTT was Spring the first time tliat I saw her, 
h I for her papa and mamma moved in 

(JJl Next door just as skating was over and 
marbles about to begin, 
For the fence in our back-yard was broken, and 

I saw, as I peeped through the slat. 
There were ' Johnny Jump-ups' all around her, 
and I knew it was Spring just by that. 

'^I never knew whether she saw me — for she 

didn't say nothing to me. 
But 'Ma! here's a slat in the fence broke, and 

the boy that is next door can see.' 
But the next day I climbed on our wood-shed, as 

you know Mamma says I've a right. 
And she calls out, ' Well, peekin is manners ! ' 

and I answered her, ' Sass is perlite ! ' 

*' But I wasn't a bit mad; no. Papa; and to 

prove it, the very next day. 
When she ran past our fence, in the morning I 

happened to get in her way. 
For you know I am ' chunked ' and clumsy, as 

she says are all boys of my size, 
And she nearly upset me, she did. Pa, and laughed 

till tears came in her eyes. 



''And then we were friends, from that moment, 

for I knew that she told Kitty Sage — 
And she wasn't a girl that would flatter — 'that 

she thought I was tall for my age,' 
And I gave her four apples that evening, and 

took her to ride on my sled. 
And — ' What am I telling you this for ? ' Why, 

Papa, my neighbor is dead ! 

" You don't hear one half I am saying — I really 
do think it's too bad ! 

Why, you might have seen crape on her door- 
knob, and noticed to-day I've been sad ; 

And they've got her a coffin of rosewood, and 
they say they have dressed her in white, 

And I've never once looked through the fence. 
Pa, since she died — at eleven last night. 

"And Ma says its decent and proper, as I was 

her neighbor and friend. 
That I should go there to the funeral, and she 

thinks that you ought to attend ; 
But I am so clumsy and awkward, I know I shall 

be in the way, 
And suppose they should speak to me. Papa, 1 

wouldn't know just what to say. 



282 



PATHETIC RECITATIONS. 



•* So I think I will get up quite early, I know I 

sleep late, but I know 
i'll be sure to wake up if our Bridget pulls the 

string that I'll tie to my toe, 
And I'll crawl through the fence and I'll gather 

the ' Johnny Jump-ups ' as they grew 
Round her feet the first day that I saw her, and, 

Papa, I'll give them to you. 



" For you're a big man, and you know. Pa, cai. 

come and go just where you choose, 
And you'll take the flowers into her -and surely 

they'll never refuse ; 
But, Papa, don't say they're from Johnny; they 

won't understand, don't you see; 
But just lay them down on her bosom, and, Papa, 

j-/^<?'//know they're from me." Bret Harte. 



STONEWALL JACKSON'S DEATH. 

Gen. Joseph Hooker, in command of the Army of the Potomac lying opposite Fredericksburg, Md., 
crossed the Rappahannock River early in May, 1863, and fought the severe battle of Chancellorsville, in 
which was killed the famous Southern general, Thomas J. Jackson, commonly known as Stonewall Jackson. 
He received this name at the first battle of Bull Run. Defeat seemed imminent, and one of the Confederate 
generals exclaimed: " Here stands Jackson like a stone wall, arid here let us conquer or die !" Gen. Jack- 
son's last words were : " Let us cross over the river, and lie down under the trees." 



(jrpiE 



HE lightning flashed across the heaven, the 
i I distant thunder rolled, 

-L And, swayed by gusts of angry winds, the 
far-off church bell tolled, 
The billows crashed against the rocks that kiss 

the ocean's foam. 
And eager pilots trimmed their sails and turned 
their skiffs for home. 

As darkness fell upon the earth, and we were 

gathered round 
Our blazing hearth, and listening to the storm's 

terrific sound. 
We all looked up to Uncle Tom, who sat beside 

the fire, 
A-dreaming of the bygone days, and of disaster 

dire. 

For memory brought us back again to times of 

darkest woe, 
When, strong in hand and light in heart, he 

fought the Northern foe. 
He often spoke of '46 — the fight on Mexic's 

plain — 
How Buena Vista heights were reached while 

bullets fell like rain. 

How Shields had gained Chapultepec, how Santa 
Anna fled, 

And how the Sisters labored even where the bul- 
lets sped ; 



And oft he spoke of later times, but always with 

a sigh. 
When South and North rose up to fight en masse 

for cause or die. 

And as beside the fire he sat and piped his meer- 
schaum well, 

We asked, to pass the time away, that he a tale 
should tell. 

He paused a ir.oment, then he laid his good old 
pipe aside, 

And said^ " I'll tell you boys, to-night, how Stone- 
wall Jackson died. 

< ' We were retreating from the foe, for Freder- 
icksburg was lost. 

And on our flank, still threatening, appeared the 
Union host ; 

Down by the Rappahannock, in our dismal tents 
we lay. 

And the lightest heart was heavy with our grave 
defeat that day. 

*' For 'tis better for a soldier like Montgomery 
to die. 

Than live to see his comrades from a hated foe- 
man fly; 

But reverses often come upon defenders of the 
right. 

And justice seldom conquers, bQys,when nations 
go to fight. 



PATHETIC RECITATIONS. 



j83 



*^ With heavy hearts we laid us down, but, mind 

you, not to sleep, 
Nor did we turn aside to sing, or turn aside to 

weep. 
But as we pondered o'er our griefs, a sudden moan 

was heard. 
Far louder than the willow's moan, when by the 

wind 'tis stirred. 

" It woke the camp from reverie, it woke the 
camp to fear; 

And louder, louder grew the wail, most dreadful 
then to hear. 

And nearer came the weeping crowd, and some- 
thing stiff and still 

Was borne, we knew not what it was, but followed 
with a will. 

*'At last within our Gen'ral's tent the precious 

load was laid. 
And then a pallid soldier turned unto us all, and 

said: 
* We thought it hard, my comrades brave, to lose 

the field to-day ; 
But harder will our struggle be, to labor in the 

fray ; 
For he is gone, our gallant chief, who could our 

hopes restore, 
And rout and ruin is our fate, since Stonewall is 

no more.' 

^* I cannot tell you how we felt, or how we acted 
then. 



For words are weak to teii ^ .^le when grief has 

mastered men ; 
But this I know, I pulled the cloth from off brave 

Jackson's face. 
And almost jumped with joy to see him gaze 

around the place. 

'* But, boys, it was a fleeting dream, a vacant staro 
he cast ; 

He did not see the canvas shaken by the sudden 
blast ; 

He did not see us weeping as we staunched the 
flowing blood. 

But again in battle fighting, he was where the foe- 
men stood. 

" * Order Gen'ral Hill to action ! ' loud he cried, 

as he was wont; 
And then he quickly added : * Bring the infantry 

to front ! ' 
As h& saw the corps pass by him — as it were — in 

duty's call. 
Suddenly he shouted : * Drive them ! charge upon 

them, one and all ! ' 

''Then he turned aside, and, smiling, said with 

voice of one in ease : 
' Let us cross the foaming river ; let us rest 

beneath the trees.' 
Then we waited, boys, and watched him, but no 

other word he said ; 
For adown the foaming river had our leader's 

spirit sped." Paul M. Russell. 



THE STORY OF NELL. 



fOU'RE a kind woman. Nan ! Ay, kind 
and true ! 
God will be good to faithful folk like 
you ! 
"ou knew my Ned ? 

A better, kinder lad never drew breath. 
^Ve loved each other true, and we were wed 
In church, like some who took him to his 
death ; 
A. lad as gentle as a lamb, but lost 
His senses when he took a drop too much. 



Drink did it all — drink made him mad when 
crossed — 

He was a poor man, and they're hard on such 
O Nan ! that night ! that night ! 

When I was sitting in this very chair, 
Watching and waiting in the candle-light, 

And heard his foot come creaking up the 
stair, 
And turned and saw him standing yonder, white 

And wild, with staring eyes and rumpled hair! 
And when I caught his arm and called in fright, 



284 



PATHETIC RECITATIONS. 



He pushed me, swore, and to the door he passed 
To lock and bar it fast. 

Then down he drops just like a lump of lead, 
Holding his brow, shaking, and growing whiter, 
And — Nan — just tlvn the light seemed grow- 
ing brighter. 
And I could see the hands that held his head, 
All red ! all bloody red ! 

"V hat could I do but scream ? He groaned to 
hear. 
Jumped to his feet, and gripped me by the 

wrist ; 
Be still, or I shall kill thee, Nell ! " he hissed. 

.\nd I was still for fear. 

"They're after me — I've knifed a man!" he 

said, 
''Be still! — the drink — drink did it! — he is 

dead!" 
Then we grew still, dead still. I couldn't, weep; 
All I could do was cling to Ned and hark, 
And Ned was cold, cold, cold, as if asleep, 
But breathing hard and deep. 

The candle flickered out — the room grew dark 
And — Nan ! — although my heart was true and 

tried — 
When all grew cold and dim, 
I shuddered — not for fear of them outside, 
But just afraid to be alone with him. 
*'Ned! Ned!" I whispered — and he moaned 

and shook. 
But did not heed or look ! 

"Ned ! Ned ! speak, lad ! tell me it is not true V 
At that he raised his head and looked so wild; 
Then, with a stare that froze my blood, he threw 
His arms around me, crying like a child, 
And held me close — and not a word was spoken. 
While I clung tighter to his heart and pressed 

him. 
And did not fear him, though my heart was 

broken, 
But kissed his poor stained hands, and cried, 

and blessed him ! 

'i'heii, Nan, the dreadful daylight, coming cold 

^*''th sound of falling rain — 

Wl^en I could see his face, and it looked old. 



Like the pinched face of one that dies in pain ; 
Well, though we heard folk stirring in the sun, 
We never thought to hide away or run, 
Until we heard those voices in the steet, 
That hurrying of feet. 

And Ned leaped up, and knew that they had 
come. 

''Run, Ned!" I cried, but he was deaf and 

dumb ; 
"Hide, Ned!" I screamed, and held him; 

" Hide thee, man ! " 
He stared with blood-shot eyes and hearkened, 

Nan! 
And all the rest is like a dream — the sound 
Of knocking at the door — 
A rush of men — a struggle on the ground — 
A mist — a tramp — a roar ; 
For when I got my senses back again, 
The room was empty, and my head went round ! 
God help him ? God wi7l help him ! Ay, no 

fear ! 
It was the drink, not Ned — he meant no wrong • 
So kind ! So good ! — and I am useless here, 
Now he is lost that loved me true and long. 

. That night before he died, 
I didn't cry — my heart was hard and dried; 
But when the clocks went "one," I took my shaw) 
To cover up my face, and stole away. 
And walked along the silent streets, where all 
Looked cold and still and gray. 
Some men and lads went by. 
And turning round, I gazed, and watched 'em 

go, 
Then felt that they were going to see him die. 
And drew my shawl more tight, and followed 

slow. 
More people passed me, a country cart with hay 
Stopped close beside me, and two or three 
Talked about //.'' I moaned, and crept away! 

Next came a hollow sound I knew full well, 
For something gripped me round the hieart — and 

then 
There came the solemn tolling of a bell ! 
O God ! O God ! how could I sit close by. 
And neither scream nor cry? 



PATHETIC RECITATIONS. 



As if I had been stone, all hard and cold, 
I listened, listened, listened, still and dumb, 
While the folk murmured, and the death-bell 

tolled. 
And the day brightened, and his time had come. 
All else was silent but the knell 
Of the slow bell ! 

And I could only wait, and wait, and wait. 
And what I waited for I couldn't tell — 
At last there came a groaning deep and great — 
St. Paul's struck " eight "— 
I screamed, and seemed to turn to fire and fell ! 



God bless him, alive or dead ! 

He never meant no wrong, was kind and true. 

They're wrought their fill of spite upon his head. 

Why didn't they be kind, and take me too? 

And there's the dear old things he used to wear, 

And there's a lock of hair. 

And Ned, my Ned ! is fast asleep, and cannot 

hear me call. 
God bless you. Nan, for all you've done and 

said! 
But don't mind me, my heart is broke, that's all! 
Robert Buchanan. 



.^^ 



^6^ 



>o^o« 



••^^ 






LITTLE NAN. 



HE wide gates swung open. 
The music softly sounded, 

And loving hands were heaping the 
soldiers' graves with flowers ; 
With pansies, pinks, and roses, 
And pure, gold-hearted lilies. 

The fairest, sweetest blossoms that grace 
the spring-time bovvers. 

When down the walk came tripping 
A wee, bare-headed girlie, 
Her eyes v/ere filled with wonder, her face 
was grave and sweet ; 
Her small brown hands were crowded 
With dandelions yellow — 
The gallant, merry blossoms that children 
love to greet. 



O, many smiled to see her. 
That dimple-cheeked wee baby, 

Pass by with quaint intentness, as on a 
mission bound ; 
And, pausing oft an instant, 
Let fall from oul; her treasures 

A yellow dandelion upon each flower, 
strewn mound. 

The music died In silence, 
A robin ceased its singing ; 

And in the fragrant stillness a bird- like 
whisper grew. 
So sweet, so clear and solemn. 
That smiles gave place to tear-drops ; 

*'Nan loves 'oo darlin' soldier; an' here's 
a f'ower for 'oo." 



(m\ wa^ 



ONE OF THE LITTLE ONES. 



WAS a crowded street, and a cry of joy 
•1 1 Came from a ragged, barefoot boy — 
-■- A cry of eager and glad surprise. 
And he opened wide his great black eyes 
As he held before him a coin of gold 
He had found in a heap of rubbish old 
By the curb stone there, 

'' How it sparkles ! " the youngster cried, 
As the golden piece he eagerly eyed : 

"Oh, see it shine ! " and he laughed aloud ; 
Little heeding the curious crowd 



That gathered around, " Hurrah ! " said he, 
•How glad my poor mother will be ! 
I'll buy her a brand-new Sunday hat, 
And a pair of shoes for Nell^, at that, 
And baby sister shall have a dress — ■ 
There'll be enough for all, I guess ; 
And then I'll " 

" Here," said a surly voice 
'That money's mine. You can take your choice 
Of giving it up or going to jail." 
The youngster trembled, and then turned pale 



'6SG 



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As he looked and saw before liim stand 
A burly dra) man with outstretched hand ; 

Rough and uncouth was the fellow's face, 

And without a single line or trace 

Ot the goodness that makes the world akin. 
•'Come, be quick ! or I'll take you in," 

Said he. 

'' For shame !" said the listening crowd. 

The ruffian seemed for the moment cowed. 
** The money's mine," he blurted out; 
*'I lost it yesterday hereabout. 

I don't want nothin' but what's my own 

And I am going to have it." 

The lad alone 
Was silent. A tear stood in his eye, 
And he brushed it away ; he would not cry. 
"Here, mister," he answered, '' take it then; 

If it's yours, it's yours; if it hadn't been '' 

A sob told all he would have said, 

Of the hope so suddenly raised, now dead. 

And then with a sigh, which volumes told, 
He dropped the glittering piece of gold 



Into the other's hand. Once more 

He sighed — and his dream of wealth was o'er. 

But no ! Humanity hath a heart 

Always ready to take the part 

Of childish sorrow, wherever found. 

'Let's make up a purse" — the word went round 
Through the kindly crowd, and the hat was 

passed 
And the coins came falling thick and fast. 

Here, sonny, take this," said theyo Behold, 
Full twice as much as the piece of gold 
He had given up was in the hand 
Of the urchin. He could not understand 
It all. The tears came thick and fast, 
And his grateful heart found voice at last. 

But, lo ! when he spoke, the crowd had gone- 
Left him, in gratitude, there alone. 
Who'll say there is not some sweet, good-will 
And kindness left in this cold world still? 

G. L. Catlin. 



THE DRUNKARD'S DAUGHTER. 




HE was a bright and beautiful child, 
one who seemed born for a better 
career, yet one on whom the 
blight of intemperance had left its impress 
early. 

Her father was a drunkard, a worthless, 
miserable sot, whose only aim and ambition 
in life seemed to be to contrive ways and 
means of satisfying the devouring fire that 
ionstanily burned within him. 

Her mother had died when she was a mere 
child, leaving her to grow up a wild flower 
''n the forest, uncultured and uncared for. 

Yet she was very beautiful; her form and 
face were of wondrous perfection and loveli- 
ness; her disposition was happy and cheerful, 
notwithstanding the abuse to which she was 
continually suVjjccted. 

The years went by; she grew to be almost 



a woman. She could not go to school or 
church, because she had nothing respectable 
to wear; and had she gone her wicked father 
would have reviled her for her disposition to 
make something better of herself and for her 
simple piety. He sank lower and lower in 
the miserable slough of intemperance, and 
yet, when urged by well-meaning friends, to 
leave him she clung to him with an affection as 
unaccountable as it was earnest and sincere. 

" If I should leave him he would die," she 
said. " If I stay and suffer with him here, 
some time I may save him and make him a 
worthy man." 

Many would have given her a home, food 
and comfortable clothes, but she preferred to 
share her father's misery rather than selfishly 
forsake him in his unhappy infirmity. 

The summer passed, the berries ripened 



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287 



and disappeared from the bushes. The leaves 
turned to crimson and yellow, and fell from 
the trees. The cold November winds howled 
through the desolate hollows, while, scantily 
clad, she crouched in a corner of her inhos- 
pitable, unhappy home. 

She was very ill ; bad treatment, poor food, 
and exposure had brought on a fatal sickness. 
Her brow burned with fever. Even her 
wretched father, selfish and inebriated as he 
was, became alarmed at her condition as he 
staggered about the room upon his return at 
a late hour from the village tavern, where he 
had spent the evening with a company of 
dissolute companions. 

" Father," she said, " I am very sick ; the 
doctor has been to see me; he left a prescrip- 
tion. Will you not go to the village and get 
it filled ?'' 

*' They won't trust me, child, '^ he said, 
gruffly. 

" But I will trust you," she said sweetly. 
*' There is a little money hidden in the old clock 
there, which I saved from picking and selling 
berries. You can take it ; there is enough." 

His eyes sparkled with a dangerous glitter. 

"Money!" he exclaimed almost fiercely. 
" I didn't know you had money. Why didn't 
you tell me before? Didn't you know it 
belonged by right to me ? " 

She sighed pitiful h^ 



He staggered to the clock, fumbled about 
for a few moments, and soon found what he 
was seeking. 

" Yes, I'll go," he said, excitedly. " Give 
me the prescription." 

He snatched it from her extended hand, 
opened the door and disappeared. 

The night grew colder. The sick girl crept 
into bed and tossed and turned restlessly. 
The oil in the old lamp burned out. The 
windows rattled, a storm came, and rain and 
hail beat upon the window panes. The old 
clock struck the hour of midnight. The 
drunkard did not return. 

Poor girl, her soul became filled with ap- 
prehension and fear for him. 

" I must go for him,'' she said. " He will 
perish, and it will be my fault." She crawled 
out of bed, drew on her scanty apparel and 
worn shoes, threw a ragged shawl over her 
head and shoulders, and went forth into the 
darkness, heroically facing the driving storm. 

The morning came, clear, cloudless and 
beautiful. The earth was cold and frosty. 
A neighbor, going early to the village, found 
two lifeless forms lying by the roadway. 
Beside the dead man lay an empty black 
bottle. The girl's white arms were clasped 
about his neck. Her soul had gone to inter- 
cede for him before the Mercy Seat on high, 

Eugene J. Hall. 



THE BEAUTIFUL. 




EAUTIFUL taces are those that wear — 
It mattei-s little if dark or fair — 
Whole-souled honesty printed there. 

Beautiful eyes are those that show, 

Like crystal panes, where eartli fires glow, 

Beautiful thoughts that burn below. 

Beautiful lips are those whose words 
Leap from the heart like song of birds, 
Yet whose utterance prudence girds. 



Beautiful hands are those that do 
Work that is earnest and brave and true, 
Moment by moment the long day through. 

Beautiful feet are those that go 
On kindly ministry to and fro, 
Down lowliest ways, if God wills it so. 

Beautiful shoulders are those that bear 

Heavy burdens of homely cart 

With patience, grace and daily prayer. 



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PATHETIC RECITATIONS. 



Beautiful lives are those that bless — 

Silent rivers of happiness, 

Whose hidden fountains but few may guess. 

Beautiful twilight at set of sun. 



Beautiful goal with race well run, 
Beautiful rest with work well done. 
Beautiful grave where grasses creep. 
Where brown leaves fall, where drifts lie deep. 
Over worn-out hands — oh, beautiful sleep. 



TROUBLE IN THE AMEN CORNER. 




WAS a stylish congregation, that of Theo- 
phrastus Brown, 
And its organ was the finest and the big- 
gest in the town, 
And the chorus, all the papers favorably com- 
mented on it, 
For 'twas said each female member had a forty- 
dollar bonnet. 

Now in the ''amen corner" of the church sat 

Brother Eyer, 
Who persisted every Sabbath-day in singing with 

the choir ; 
He was poor, but genteel-looking, and his heart 

as snow was white, 
And his old face beamed with sweetness when he 

sang with all his might. 

His voice was cracked and broken, age had 

touched his vocal chords, 
And nearly tvery Sunday he would mispronounce 

the words 
Of the hymns, and 'twas no wonder, he was old 

and nearly blind, 
And the choir rattling onward always left ];iim 

far behind. 

Then the pastor called together in the lecture- 
room one day 

Seven influential members who subscribe more 
than they pay. 

And having asked God's guidance in a printed 
prayer or two, 

Thry put their heads together to determine what 
to do. 

Tliey debated, thought, suggested, till at last 

"dear Brother York," 
Wl'O last winter made a million on a sudden rise 

in pork, 



Rose and moved that a committee wait at once 

on Brother Eyer, 
And proceed to rake him lively for "disturbin' 

of the choir." 

Of course the motion carried, and one day a 

coach and four, 
With the latest style of driver, rattled up to 

Eyer's door; 
And the sleek, well-dressed committee, Brothers 

Sharkey, York, and Lamb, 
As they crossed the humble portal took good care 

to miss the jam. 

They found the choir's great trouble sitting in his 

old arm-chair, 
And the summer's golden sunbeams lay upon his 

thin white hair; 
He was singing " Rock of Ages " in a voice both 

cracked and low. 
But the angels understood him, 'twas all he cared 

to know. 

Said York: " We're here, dear brother, with the 
vestry's approbation. 

To discuss a little matter that affects the congre- 
gation ; " 

''And the choir, too/' said Sharkey, giving Bro- 
ther York a nudge, 

" And the choir, too ! " he echoed with the grave- 
ness of a judge. 

" It was the understanding when we bargained 

for the chorus 
That it was to relieve us, that is, do the singing 

for us ; 
If we rupture the agreement, it is very pain, dear 

brother, 
It will leave our congregation and be gobbled I))' 

another. 



PATHETIC RECITATIONS. 



289 



^' We don't want any singing except that what 
we've bought ! 

The latest tunes are all the rage ; the old ones 
stand for naught ; 

And so we have decided — are you listening, Bro- 
ther Eyer? — 

That you'll have to stop your singin', for it flurry- 
tates the choir. ' ' 

The old man slowly raised his head, a sign that 

he did hear. 
And on his cheek the trio caught the glitter of a 

tear ; 
His feeble hands pushed back the locks white as 

the silky snow, 
As he answered the committee in a voice both 

sweet and low ; 

*' I've sung the psalms of David for nearly eighty 

years, 
They've been my staff and comfort and calmed 

life's many fears; 
I'm sorry I disturb the choir, perhaps I'm doing 

wrong ; 
But when my heart is filled with praise, I can't 

keep back a song. 



''I wonder if beyond the tide that's breaking at 

my feet, 
In the far-off heavenly temple, where the Master 

I shall greet, — 
Yes, I wonder when I try to sing the songs of 

God up higher. 
If the angel band will church me for disturbing 

heaven's choir." 

A silence filled the little room; the old ma^ 
bowed his head ; 

The carriage rattled on again, but Brother Eyer 
was dead ! 

Yes, dead ! his hand had raised the veil the fu- 
ture hangs before us. 

And the Master dear had called him to the ever- 
lasting chorus. 

The choir missed him for awhile, but he was 

soon forgot, 
A few church-goers watched the door ; the old 

man entered not. 
Far away, his voice no longer cracked^ he sings 

his heart's desires, 
Where there are no church committees and nc 

fashionable choirs. C. T. Harbaugh. 



:^|^. 



LITTLE MAG'S VICTORY. 




WAS a hovel all wretched, forlorn and 

poor. 
With crumbling eves and a hingeless 

door, 
And windows where pitiless midnight rains 
Beat fiercely in through the broken panes. 
And tottering chimneys, and moss-grown roof. 
From the heart of the city far aloof, 
Where Nanny, a hideous, wrinkled hag, 
Dwelt with her grandchild, "Little Mag." 

The neighbors called old Nanny a witch. 
The story went that she'd once been rich — 
Aye, rich as any lady in town — 
But trouble had come and dragged her down 
And down ; then sickness, and want, and age 
Had filled the rest of her life's sad page, 
And driven her into the slums to hide 
Her shame and misery till she died. 
(19— X) 



The boys, as she hobbled along the street, 
Her coming with yells and hoots would greet; 
E'en grown folks dreaded old Nan so much 
That they'd shun, in passing, her very touch. 
And a mocking word or glance would send. 

Poor little Mag was her only friend : 

Faithful and true was the child, indeed. 

What did she ever care or heed 

For those cruel words, and those looks of scorn 

In patient silence they all were borne ; 

But she prayed that God would hasten the day 

That would take her sorrow and care away. 

Alas ! that day — that longed-for boon. 
That ending of sorrow — came all too soon. 
For there came a day when a ruffian crowd. 
With stones, and bludgeons, and hootings loud. 
Surrounded old Nanny's hovel door, 



290 



PATHETIC RECITATIONS. 



Led on by a drunken brute, who swore, 

In blasphemous oaths, and in language wild, 

She had stolen a necklace from off his child. 

Crouched in a corner, dumb with fear, 

The old hag sat, with her grandchild near, 

As the furious mob of boys and men, 

Yelling, entered her dingy den. 

*• Kill her ! " shouted the brutal pack. 

''Cowards!" screamed Little Mag. *' Stand 

back!" 
As she placed her fragile form before 
Her poor old grandmother, on the floor, 
And clasped her about the neck, and pressed 



The thin gray hairs to her childish breast. 

" Cowards ! " she said. " Now, do your worst. 

If either must die, let me die first ! ' ' 



Cowed and abashed, the crowd stood still, 

Awed by that child's unaided will ; 

One by one, in silence and shame. 

They all stole out by the way they came. 

Till the fair young child and the withered crone 

Were left once more in that room — alone. 



n 



But stop ! What is it the child alarms ? 
0/d Nan lies dead in her grandchild^ s arms I 
George L. Catlin. 



P\ thi( 



LIFE'S BATTLE, 



LAS 1 I'm growing old, my hair, once 
thick and brown, 
now quite white and silky, and 
sparse about the crown ; 
A year, that once seemed endless, now, passes 

like a dream, 
Yet my boat still rides the billows, as it floats 
along the stream. 

My eye, once like the eagle's, is now much 

dimmed by age, 
And art alone enables me to read the printed page. 
Yet still it rests with quickened glance upon each 

lovely scene. 
As years roll by with silent pace and changes 

come between. 



Life is full of gladness if we but make it so, | 

There's not a wave of sorrow but has an under* 

tow. 
A stout heart and a simple faith gives victory o'er 

the grave. 
And God awaits all patiently, all powerful to 

save. 

'Tis not a cross to live, nor is it hard to die, 

If we but view the future with steadfast, fearless i 

eye, i 

Looking ever on the bright side, where falls ti^e 

sun's warm beam. 
Our boats will ride the billows as they float ale az, 

the stream. 

Wayne Howe Parsons 



^@S><}®' 



THE LOST KISS, 



I PUT by the half-written poem, 
While the pen, idly trailed in my hand. 
Writes on, '' Had I words to complete it, 
Who'd read it, or who'd understand? " 
But the little bare feet on the stairway, 

And the faint, smothered laugh in the hall. 
And *-he eerie-low lisp on the silence. 
Cry up to me over it all. 

So I gather it up — where was broken 
The tear — faded thread of my theme, 



Telling how, as one night I sat writing, 
A fairy broke in on my dream. 

A little inquisitive fairy 

My own little girl, with the gold 

Of the sun in her hair, and the dewy 
Blue eyes of the fairies of old. 

'Twas the dear little girl that I scolded- 
" For was it a moment like this,'' 

I said, when she knew I was busy, 
" To come romping in for a kiss? 



PATHETIC RECITATIONS. 



291 



Come rowdying up from her mother 
And clamoring there at my knee 

For ' One 'ittle kiss for my dolly 
And one 'ittle uzzer for me ? ' " 

God pity the heart that repelled her 
And the cold hand that turned her away ! 

And take from the lips that denied her 
This answerless prayer of to-day ! 

Take, Lord, from my mem'ry forever 
That pitiful sob of despair. 



And the patter and trip of the little bare feet 
And the one piercing cry on the stair ! 

I put by the half-written poem, 

While the pen, idly trailed in my hand, 
Writes on, '^ Had I words to complete it, 

Who'd read it, or who'd understand ? " 
But the little bare feet on the stairway, 

And the faint, smothered laugh in the hall. 
And the eerie-low lisp on the silence, 

Cry up to me over all. 

James Whitcomb Riley. 



EXECUTION OF MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 



w I HE Queen arrived in the hall of death. 
^ I Pale but unflinching she contemplated 
the dismal preparations. There lay 
the block and the axe. There stood the ex- 
ecutioner and his assistant. All were clothed 
in mourning. On the floor was scattered the 
sawdust which was to soak her blood, and in a 
dark corner lay the bier. It was nine o^cIock 
when the Queen appeared in the funereal hall- 
Fletcher, Dean of Peterborough, and certain 
privileged persons, to the number of more 
than two hundred, were assembled. The 
hall was hung with black cloth ; the scaflbld, 
which was elevated about two feet and a half 
above the ground, was covered with black 
frieze of Lancaster ; the arm-chair in which 
Mary was to sit, the footstool on which she 
was to kneel, the block on which her head 
was to be laid, were covered with black velvet. 
The Queen was clothed in mourning like 
the hall and as the ensign of punishment. 
Her black velvet robe, with its high collar 
and hanging sleeves, was bordered with er- 
mine. Her mantle, lined with marten sable, 
was of satin, with pearl buttons and a long 
train.* A chain of sweet-smelling beads, to 
which was attached a scapulary, and beneath 
^hat a golden cross, fell upon her bosom. 
Two rosaries were suspended to her girdle, 
and a long veil of white lace, which in some 



measure softened this costume of a widow 
and of a condemned criminal, was thrown 
around her. 

Arrived on the scaffold, Mary seated her- 
self in the chair provided for her, with her 
face toward the spectators. The Dean of 
Peterborough, in ecclesiastical costume, sat 
on the right of the Queen, with a black vel- 
vet footstool before him. The Earls of Kent 
and Shrewsbury were seated, like him, on the 
right, but upon larger chairs. On the other 
side of the Queen stood the Sheriff, Andrews, 
with white wand. In front of Mary were 
seen the executioner and his assistant, dis- 
tinguishable by their vestments of black vel- 
vet with red crape round the left arm. Behind 
the Queen's chair, ranged by the wall, wept 
her attendants and maidens. 

In the body of the hall, the nobles and 
citizens from the neighboring counties were 
guarded by musketeers. Beyond the balus- 
trade was the bar of the tribunal. The sen- 
tence was read ; the Queen protested against 
it in the name of royalty and of innocence, 
but accepted death for the sake of the faith. 
She then knelt before the block and the 
executioner proceeded to remove her veil. 
She repelled him by a gesture, and turning 
toward the Earls with a blush on her fore- 
head, " I am not accustomed," she said, " to 



292 



PATHETIC RECITATIONS. 



be undressed before so numerous a company, 
and by the hands of such grooms of the 
chamber." 

She then called Jane Kennedy and Eliza- 
beth Curie, who took off her mantle, her veil, 
her chains, cross and scapulary. On their 
touching her robe, the Queen told them to 
unloosen the corsage and fold down the 
ermine collar, so as to leave her neck bare 
for the axe. Her maidens weepingly yielded 
her these last services. Melvil and the three 
other attendants wept and lamented, and 
Mary placed her finger on her lips to signify 
that they should be silent. She then arranged 



the handkerchief embroidered with thistles of 
gold with which her eyes had been covered 
by Jane Kennedy. 

Thrice she kissed the crucifix, each time 
repeating, " Lord, into Thy hands I commend 
my spirit." She knelt anew and leant her 
head on that block which was already scored 
with deep marks, and in this solemn attitude 
she again recited some verses from the Psalms. 
The executioner interrupted her at the third 
verse by a blow of the axe, but its trembling 
stroke only grazed her neck ; she groaned 
slightly, and the second blow separated the 
head from the body. Lamartine. 



OVER THE RANGE. 




ALF-SLEEPING, by the fire I sit, 
I start and wake, it is so strange 
To find myself alone, and Tom 
Across the Range. 

We brought him in with heavy feet 

And eased him down ; from eye to eye. 

Though no one spoke, there passed a fear 
That Tom must die. 

He rallied when the sun was low. 

And spoke; I thought the words were strange; 
'' It's almost night, and I must go 

Across the Range." 

''What, Tom?" He smiled and nodded : ''"as, 
They've struck it rich there, Jim, you know, 



The parson told us; you'll come soon; 
Now Tom must go." 

I brought his sweetheart's pictured face : 

Again that smile, so sad and strange, 
" Tell her," said he, " that Tom has gone 
Across the Range." 

The last night lingered on the hill. 

"There's a pass, somewhere," then he said. 
And lip, and eye, and hand were still ; 
And Tom was dead. 

Half-sleeping, by the fire I sit : 
I start and wake, it is so strange 

To find myself alone, and Tom 
Across the Range. J. Harrison Mills. 



THE STORY OF CRAZY NELL. 

FOUNDED ON FACT. 



,OME, Rosy, come ! 



' T^OM 
I \-^ and looked 



I heard the voice 



Out on the road that passed my 
window wide, 
And saw a woman and a fair-haired child 

That knelt and picked the daisies at the side. 

The child ran quickly with its gathered prize, 
And, laughing, held it high above its head ; 



A light glowed bright within the woman's eyes, 
And in that light a mother's love I read. 

She took the little hand, and both passed on ; 

The prattle of the child I still could hear. 
Mixed with the woman's fond, caressing tone, 

That came in loving words upon my ear. 

" Come, Rosy, come ! " Years, many years had 
gone. 



PATHETIC RECITATIONS. 



293 



But yet had left the recollection of that scene — 
The woman and the fair-haired child that knelt 
And picked the daisies on the roadside green. 

I looked. The old familiar road was there — ■ 
A woman, wan and stooping, stood there too ; 

i\nd beckoned slowly, and with vacant stare 
That fixed itself back where the daisies grew. 

* ' Come, Rosy, come ! " I saw no fair-haired child 
Run from the daisies with its gathered prize; 

■' Come, Rosy, come ! " I heard no merry laugh 
To light the love-glow in the mother's eyes. 



'* Come, Rosy, come ! " She turned, and down 
the road 

The plaintive voice grew fainter on my ear ; 
Caressing tones — not mixed with prattle now. 

But full of loving words — I still could hear. 

I, wondering, asked a gossip at my door ; 

He told the story — all there was to tell ; 
A little mound the village churchyard bore ; 

And this, he said, is only Crazy Nell. 

Joseph Whitton. 



LITTLE SALLIE'S WISH. 

The following poem was written from facts, concerning a sweet little girl who lived in New York. 
When Summer came her parents took a cottage in the country, where the scene described was enacted. 



fHAVE seen the first robin of Spring, mother 
dear. 
And have heard the brown darling sing ; 
You said, " Hear it and wish, and 'twill surely 
come true," 
So I've wished such a beautiful thing. 

I thought I would like to ask something for you, 
But couldn't think what there could be 

That you'd want, while you had all these beauti- 
ful things ; 
Besides you have papa and me. 

So I wished for a ladder, so long that 'twould stand 

One end by our own cottage door, 
And the other go up past the moon and the stars. 

And lean against heaven's white floor. 

Then I'd get you to put on my pretty white dress, 
With my sash and my darling new shoes ; 

And I'd find some white roses to take up to God, 
The most beautiful ones I could choose. 

And you, dear papa, would sit on the ground. 
And kiss me, and tell me ^'good-bye; " 

Then I'd go up the ladder, far out of your sight, 
Till I came to the door in the sky. 

I wonder if God keeps the door fastened tight ? 

If but one little crack I could see, 
I would whisper, ' ' Please, God, let this little 
girl in. 

She's as weary and tired as can b^. 



'' She came all alone from the earth to the sky, 
For she's always been wanting to see 

The gardens of heaven, with their robins and 
flowers ; 
Please, God, is there room there for me ? " 

And then when the angels had opened the door, 
God would say, " Bring the little child here. ' ' 

But He'd speak it so softly, I'd not be afraid, 
And He'd smile just like you, mother dear. 

He would put His kind arms round your dear 
little girl. 

And I'd ask Him to send down for you. 
And papa, and cousin, and all that I love — 

Oh, dear, don't you wish 'twould come true? 

The next Spring time, when the robins came 
home, 

They sang over grasses and flowers, 
That grew where the foot of the long ladder stood, 

Whose top reached the heavenly bowers. 

And the parents had dressed the pale, still child 
For her flight to the Summer land. 

In a fair white robe, with one snow-white rose 
Folded tight in her pulseless hand. 

And now at the foot of the ladder they sit, 

Looking upward with quiet tears, 
Till the beckoning hand and the fluttering rob^ 

Qf the child at the top re-appear§. 



294 



PATHETIC RECITATIONS. 




DROWNED AMONG 

"0\V the reeds and rushes quiver 
On the low banks of the river, 
And the leaning willows shi\^r 
In a strange and deep affright, 
And the water moans and murmurs 
As it eddies round the lilies, 
Like a human soul in sorrow, 
Over something hid from sight. 

How the shadows haunt the edges 
Of the river, where the sedges 
To the lilies whisper ever 

Of some strange and awful deed ! 
How the sunshine, timid, frightened, 
Dares not touch the spot it brightened 
Yesterday, among the shadows 

Of the lily and the reed. 

What is that that floats and shimmers 
Where the water gleams and glimmers. 
In and out among the rushes, 

Growing thick, and tall, and green? 



THE LILIES. 

Something yellow, long and shining 
Something wondrous fair and silken. 
Like a woman's golden tresses. 
With a broken flower between. 

What is that, so white and slender, 
Hidden, almost, by the splendor 
Of a great white water lily. 

Floating on the river there ? 
*Tis a hand stretched up toward Heaven, 
As, when we would be forgiven. 
We reach out our hands, imploring, 

In an agony of prayer. 

Tremble, reeds, and moan and shiver, 
At your feet, in the still river. 
Lies a woman, done forever. 

With life's mockery and woe. 
God alone can know the sorrow, 
All the bitterness and heartache. 
Ended in the moaning river 

Where the water lilies blow. 

Eben E. Rexford. 




4 



THE FATE OF CHARLOTTE CORDAY, 



(*)l I HE sunny land of France with streams of 
i I noblest blood was dyed, 

-^ Nor could a monarch's royal veins suffice 
the insatiate tide ; 
And youth and beauty knelt in vain, and mercy 

ceased to shine, 
And Nature's holiest ties were loosed beneath 
the guillotine. 

Wild war and rapine, hate and blood, and terror 
ruled supreme, 

Till all who loved its vine-clad vales had ceased 
of peace to dream ; 

But there was one whose lover's blood wrote ven- 
geance in her soul, 

Whom zeal for France and blighted hopes had 
bound in fast control. 

Dark '* Discord's demon," fierce Marat, his coun- 
try's fellest foe, 
Belzance's executioner, the fount of war and woe ; 



Demon alike in mind and face, he dreamt not of 

his fall, 
Yet him the noble maiden doomed to vengeance 

and to Gaul. 

O ! had an artist seen them there as face to face 

they stand ; 
The noblest and the meanest mind in all that 

bleeding land; 
The loveliest and most hideous forms that pencil 

could portray — 
A picture might on canvas live that would not 

pass away. 

''Point out the foes of France," he said, ''and 

ere to-morrow shine. 
The blood, now warm within their veins, shall 

stain the guillotine." 
" The guillotine ! " the maid exclaimed, the steel 

^ moment gleams, 



I 



PATHETIC RECITATIONS. 



295 



A moment more 'tis in his heart ; adieu to all his 
dreams ! . 

Before her judges Charlotte stands, undaunted, 
undismayed, 

While eyes that never wept are wet with pity for 
the maid, 

Unstained as beautiful she stands before the judg- 
ment seat, 

Resigned to fate, her heart is calm while others 
wildly beat ! 

Alas ! too sure her doom is read in those stern 

faces, while 
Fear from her looks affrighted fled, where shone 

Minerva's smile; 
Hope she had none, or, if perchance she had, 

that hope was gone. 
Yet in its stead 'twas not despair but brightest 

triumph shone ! 

"What was the cause?" *' His crimes," she 

said, her bleeding country's foe. 
Inspired her hand, impelled the steel, and laid 

the tyrant low ; 
Though well she knew her blood would flow for 

him she caused to bleed. 
Yet what was death ? — The crowning wreath that 

graced the noble deed ! 

Her doom is passed, a lovely smile dawns slowly 
o'er her face, 

And adds another beauty to her calm majestic 
grace ; 

She does not weep, she does not shrink, her fea- 
tures are not pale, 

The firmness that inspired her hand forbids her 
heart to fail ! 

'Tis morn ; before the Tuilleries the dawn is break- 
ing gray, 



And thousands through the busy streets in haste 

pursue their way ; 
What means the bustle and the throng, the scene 

is nothing new — 
A fair young lady, doomed to die, each day the 

same they view. 

Before that home of bygone kings a gloomy scpi"- 
fold stands, 

Upreared in Freedom's injured name to manaclt. 
her hands ; 

Some crowd to worship, some insult, the martyr 
in her doom, 

But over friends and foes a cloud is cast of som- 
bre gloom. 

She stands upon the fatal spot angelically fair, 
The roses of her cheek concealed beneath her 

flowing hair ; 
"Greater than Brutus," she displays no sign of 

fear or dread. 
But in a moment will be still and silent with the 

dead. 

Her neck is bared, the fatal knife descends, and 

all is o'er. 
The martyred heroine of France — of freedom 

dreams no more ; 
The insults of the wretched throng she hears no 

longer now. 
But Death, man's universal friend, sits on her 

pallid brow ! 

In life, fear never blanched her cheek ; but now 

'tis calm and pale. 
Love and her country asked revenge, and both 

her fate bewail ; 
She fell, more glorious in her fall than chief or 

crowned queen, 
A martyr in a noble cause, without a fault to 

screen ! Clare S. McKinley. 



T: 



THE LITTLE VOYAGER. 



HREE little children in a boat 
On seas of opal spendor ; 
The willing waves their treasure float 
To rhythm low and tender ; 
Over their heads the skies are blue — 
Where are the darlings sailing to? 



They do not know — we do not know. 

Who watch their pretty motions ; 
Safe moored within the harbor, though 

They sail untraveled oceans ; 
They rock and sway and shut their exes ; 
**No land in sight ! " the helmsman cries! 



296 



PATHETIC RECITATIONS. 



■ Oh, little children have you heard 
Of ships that sail for pleasure ; 

And never wind or wave hath word 
Of all their vanished treasure ? 

They were as blithe and gay as you 

And sailed away as fearless, tool" 



Then from the pleasure-freighted crew 

One spake — a little maiden, 
With sunny hair, and eyes of blue, 

And lashes fair, dew-laden. 
Her wise head gave a thoughtful nod — ! 
Perhaps — they sailed — away to God ! ' ' 
Mrs. M. L. Baynf 



®^<}®' 



THE DREAM OF ALDARIN. 



This selection won a gold medal at a Commencement of the Mt. Vernon Institute of Elocution ».- 
Philadelphia. It is a remarkable embodiment of tragedy and pathos. 

grasping the infinitude of the cataract, his fee'i. 
resting upon islands of bitumen far in the 



(^>r- CHAMBER with a low, dark ceiling, 

LA supported by massive rafters of oak; 
yJLV floors and walls of dark stone, un- 
relieved by wainscot or plaster — 
bare, rugged, and destitute. 

A dim, smoking light, burning in a vessel 
of iron, threw its red and murky beams over 
the fearful contents of a table. It was piled 
high with the unsightly forms of the dead. 
Prostrate among these mangled bodies, his 
arms flung carelessly on either side, slept and 
dreamed Aldarin — Aldarin, the Fratricide. 

He hung on the verge of a rock, a rock of 
melting bitumen, that burned his hands to 
masses of crisped and blackened flesh. The 
rock projected over a gulf, to which the cata- 
racts of earth might compare as the rivulet 
to the vast ocean. It was the Cataract of 
Hell. He looked below. God of Heaven, 
what a -ij^h* Fiery waves, convulsed and 
foaming, with innumerable whirlpools crim- 
soned by bubbles of flame. Each whirlpool 
swallowing millions of the lost. Each bubble 
Jjcaring on its surface the face of a soul, lost 
and lost forever. 

Born on by the waves, they raised their 
hands and cast their burning eyes to the 
skies, and shrieked the eternal death-wail of 
the lost. 

Over this scene, awful and vast, towered a 
figure of ebony blackness, his darkened brow 
concealed in the clouds, his extended arms 



gulf below. The eyes of the figure wer^ 
fixed upon Aldarin, as he clung with the ner- 
vous clasp of despair to the rock, and thei*- 
gaze curdled his heated blood. 

He was losing his grasp; sliding and shd 
ing from the rock, his feet hung over the 
gulf. There v/as no hope for him. He must 
fall — fall — and fall forever. But lo ! a stair- 
way, built of white marble, wide, roomy and 
secure, seemed to spring from the very rock 
to which he clung, winding upward from the 
abyss, till it was lost in the distance far, far 
above. He beheld two figures slowly de- 
scending — the figure of a warrior and the 
form of a dark- eyed woman. 

He knew those figures; he knew them 
well. They were his victims ! Her face, his 
wife's ! beautiful as when he first woed her in 
the gardens of Palestine; but there was 
blood on her vestments, near the heart, and 
his lip was spotted with one drop of that 
thick, red blood. " This," he muttered, " this^ 
indeed, is hell, and yet I must call for aid — ^ 
call to them ! " How the thought writhed 
like a serpent round his very heart. 

He drew himself along the rugged rock, 
clutching the red-hot ore in the action. He 
wanted but a single inch, a little inch and he 
might grasp the marble of the stairway. 
Another and a desperate effort His fingers 



I 



PATHETIC RECITATIONS. 



297 



clutched it, but his strength was gone. He 
could not hold it in his grasp. With an eye 
of horrible intensity he looked above. "Thou 
wilt save me, Ilmerine, my wife. Thou wilt 
drag me up to thee." She stooped. She 
clutched his blackened fingers and placed 
ihem around the marble. His grasp was 
tight and desperate. "Julian, O Julian! 
grasp this hand. Aid me, O Julian! my 
brother ! " The warrior stooped, laid hold on 
his hand and drawing it toward the casement, 
wound it around another piece of marble. 

But again his strength fails. " Julian, my 
brother; Ilmerine, my wife, seize me! Drag 
me from this rock of terror ! Save me ! O 
save me ! " She stooped. She unwound 
finger after finger. She looked at his horror- 
stricken face and pointed to the red wound in 
her heart. He looked toward the other face. 

•9- , — j S)| 



" Thou, Julian, reach me thy handr Thy 
hand, or I perish ! " The warrior ".lowly 
reached forth his hand from beneath the 
folds of his cloak. He held before the eyes 
of the doomed a goblet of gold. It shone 
and glimmered through the foul air like the 
beacon fire of hell. 

" Take it away ! 'Tis the death bowl ! " 
shrieked Aldarin's livid lips. " I murdered 
thee. Thou canst not save." He drew back 
from the maddening sight. He lost his hold, 
he slid from the rock, he fell. 

Above, beneath, around, all was fire, horror, 
death ; and still he fell. " Forever and for- 
ever," rose the shrieks of the lost. All hell 
groaned aloud, " Ever, ever. Forever and 
forever," and his own soul muttered back^ 
" This— this— is— hell ! '' 

George Lippard. 



IN THE MINING TOWN. 




IS the last time, darling," he gently said, 
As he kissed her lips like the cherries 
red. 

While a fond look shone in his eyes of brown. 
" My own is the prettiest girl in town ! 
To-morrow the bell from the tower will ring 
A. joyful peal. Was there ever a king 
So truly blessed, on his royal throne. 
As I shall be when I claim my own ? ' ' 

'Twas a fond farewell, 'twas a sweet good-by, 
But she watched him go with a troubled sigh. 
So, into the basket that swayed and swung 
O'er the yawning abyss, he lightly sprung. 
And the joy of her heart seemed turned to woe 
As they lowered him into the depths below. 
Her sweet young face, with its tresses brown, 
Was the fairest face in the mining town. 

Lo! the morning came; but the marriage-bell, 
High up in the tower, rang a mournful knell 
For the true heart buried 'neath earth and stone. 
Par down in the heart of the mine, alone. 



A sorrowful peal on their wedding-day, 

For the breaking heart and the heart of clay. 

And the face that looked from the tresses 

brown. 
Was the saddest face in the mining town. 

Thus time rolled along on its weary way, 
Until fifty years, with their shadows gray, 
Had darkened the light of her sweet eyes' glow. 
And had turned the brown of her hair to snow. 
Oh 1 never the kiss from a husband's lips. 
Or the clasp of a child's sweet finger-tips. 
Had lifted one moment the shadows brown 
From the saddest heart in the mining town. 

Far down in the depths of the mine, one day. 
In the loosened earth they were digging awayj 
They discovered a face, so young, so fair; 
From the smiling lip to the bright brown hair 
Untouched by the finger of Time's decay. 
When they drew him up to the light of day, 
The wondering people gathered 'round 
To gaze at the man thus strangely found- 



298 



PATHETIC RECITATIONS. 



Then a woman came from among the crowd, 
With her long white hair and her slight form 

bowed. 
She silently knelt by the form of clay, 
And kissed the lips that were cold and gray. 



Then, the sad old face, with its snowy hair 
On his youthful bosom lay pillowed there. 
He had found her at last, his waiting bridej 
And the people buried them side by side. 

Rose Hartwick Thorpe. 



TOMMY'S PRAYER. 

This beautiful poem is full of the pathos and suffering of poverty. It should be delivered with expres- 
sion and feeling. Although lengthy the interest is sustained throughout. 



IN a dark and dismal alley where the sunshine 
never came. 
Dwelt a little lad named Tommy, sickly, 
delicate and lame; 
He had never yet been healthy, but had lain since 

he was born. 
Dragging out his weak existence well nigh hope- 
less and forlorn. 

He was six, was little Tommy, 'twas just five 

years ago 
Since his drunken mother dropped him, and the 

babe was crippled so. 
He had never known the comfort of a mother's 

tender care. 
But her cruel blows and curses made his pain still 

worse to bear. 

There he lay within the cellar from the morning 

till the night, 
Starved, neglected, cursed, ill-treated, naught to 

make his dull life bright ; 
Not a single friend to love him, not a living thing 

to love — 
For he knew not of a Saviour, or a heaven up 

above. 

'Twas a quiet summer evening; and the alley, 

too, was still ; 
Tommy's little heart was sinking, and he felt so 

lonely, till, 
Floating up the quiet alley, wafted inwards from 

the street, 
Came the sound of some one singing, sounding, 

oh ! so clear and sweet. 

Kagerly did Tommy listen as the singing nearer 
came— 



Oh ! that he could see the singer ! How he 

wished he wasn't lame. 
Then he called and shouted loudly, till the singer 

heard the sound. 
And on noting whence it issued, soon the little 

cripple found. 

'Twas a maiden, rough and rugged, hair unkempt 

and naked feet. 
All her garments torn and ragged, her appearance 

far from neat ; 
"So yer called me," said the maiden, ** wonder 

wot yer wants o' me ; 
Most folks call me Singing Jessie ; wot may your 

name chance to be ? " 

'' My name's Tommy; I'm a cripple, and I want 
to hear you sing, 

For it makes me feel so happy — sing me some- 
thing, anything." 

Jessie laughed, and answered, smiling, *'I can't 
stay here very long, 

But I'll sing a hymn to please you, wot I calls the 
'Glory song ' " 

Then she sang to him of Heaven, pearly gates 
and streets of gold. 

Where the happy angel children are not starved 
or nipped with cold ; 

But where happiness and gladness never can- 
decrease or end, 

And where kind and loving Jesus is their Sover- 
eign and their Friend. 

Oh ! how Tommy's eyes did glisten as he drank 

in every word 
As it fell from ''Singing Jessie "—was it true, 

what he had heard ? 



PATHETIC RECITATIONS. 



299 



^nd so anxiously he asked her : " Is there really 

such a place ? ' ' 
And a tear began to trickle down his pallid little 
face. 

'' Tommy, you're a little heathen ; why, it*s up 

beyond the sky, 
A.nd if yer will love the Saviour, yer shall go 

there when yer die." 
'^Then," said Tommy; "tell me, Jessie, how 

can I the Saviour love, 
When I'm down in this 'ere cellar, and he's up 

in Heaven above ? " 

So the little ragged maiden who had heard at 

Sunday-school 
All about the way to Heaven, and the Christian's 

golden rule, 
Taught the Httle cripple Tommy how to love and 

how to pray, 
Then she sang a "Song of Jesus," kissed his 

cheek and went away. 

Tommy lay within the cellar which had grown so 

dark and cold, 
Thinking all about the children in the streets of 

shining gold ; 
And he heeded not the darkness of that damp 

and chilly room, 
For the joy in Tommy's bosom could disperse the 

deepest gloom. 

" Oh! if I could only see it," thought the crip- 
ple, as he lay. 

'' Jessie said that Jesus listens and I think I'll try 
and pray; " 

So he put his hands together, and he closed his 
little eyes, 

And in accents weak, yet earnest, sent this mes- 
sage to the skies : 

** Gentle Jesus, please forgive me, as I didn't 

know afore. 
That yer cared for little cripples who is weak and 

very poor. 
And I never heard of Heaven till that Jessie 

came to-day 
\nd told me all about it, so I wants to try and 

pray. 



" You can see me, can*t yer, Jesus? Jessie told 

me that yer could. 
And I somehow must believe it, for it seems so 

prime and good ; 
And she told me if I loved you, I should see yer 

when I die. 
In the bright and happy heaven that is up beyond 

the sky, 

" Lord, I'm only just a cripple, and I'm no use 

here below. 
For I heard my mother whisper she'd be glad if 

I could go ; 
And I'm cold and hungry sometimes; and I feel 

so lonely, too. 
Can't yer take me, gentle Jesus, up to Heaven 

along o' you? 

"Ohl I'd be so good and patient, and I'd never 

cry or fret; 
And yer kindness to me, Jesus, I would surely 

not forget ; 
I would love you all I know of, and would never 

make a noise — 
Can't you find me just a corner, where I'll watch 

the other boys ? 

Oh ! I think yer'U do it, Jesus, something seems 

to tell me so. 
For I feel so glad and happy, and I do so want 

to go; 
How I long to see yer, Jesus, and the children all 

so bright ! 
Come and fetch me, won't yer, Jesus? Come 

and fetch me home to-night ! " 

Tommy ceased his supplication, he had told his 
soul's desire, 

And he waited for the answer till his head began 
to tire ; 

Then he turned towards his corner, and lay hud- 
dled in a heap, 

Closed his little eyes so gently, and was quickly 
fast asleep. 

Oh, I wish that every scoffer could have seen his 

little face 
As he lay there in the corner, in that damp and 

noisome placf ; 



300 



PATHETIC RECITATIONS. 



For his countenance was shining like an angel's, 

fair and bright, 
And it seemed to fill the cellar with a holy, 

her.venly light. 

He had only heard of Jesus from a ragged sing- 
ing girl, 

He might well have wondered, pondered, till his 
brain began to whirl; 

But he took it as she told it, and believed it then 
and there. 

Simply trusting in the Saviour, and His kind and 
tender care. 

In the morning, when the mother came to wake 
her crippled boy, 



She discovered that his features wore a look of 

sweetest joy, 
And she shook him sopaewhat roughly, but the 

cripple's face was coM — 
He had gone to join the children in the street's 

of shining gold. 

Tommy's prayer had soofi been answereO, and 

the Angel Death had come 
To remove him from his ceiJ.ar, to His bright and 

heavenly home 
Where sweet comfort, joy an^i gladness never can 

decrease or end, 
And where Jesus reigns eterf-^Uy, his Sovereign 

and his Friend. I. F. Nichols. 



ROBBY AND RUTH, 



KBY and Ruth strolled out one day. 
Over the meadows, beyond the town ; 
The robins sang, and the fields looked 
gay, 
And the orchards dropped their blossoms down : 
But they took no thought of song or flower, 
For this, to them, was love's sweet hour; 
And love's hour is fleet, 
And swift love's feet. 
When a lad and a winsome lassie meet ! 

Robby and Ruth in the church were wed. 

Ere the orchard apples began to fall ; 
*' Till death shall part," were the words they said. 

And love's pure sunlight hallowed all. 
Ah ! never a bride more sweet and fair 
Wore orange-blooms in her sunny hair ! 
The maiden sung, 
And the joy-bells rung 
And echoed the orchafds and groves among. 



Robby and Ruth kept house together, 

Till both were old and bent aid gray, 
And little they cared for outside weather, 

For home's sweet light gilded nil their way; 
And many a precious nestling came 
To be called by the dear old hous^t^hold name ; 
And the love that blesse(i 
When first confessed 
Remained in their hearts a constant guest. 

Robby and Ruth grew weary at last- 
Bobby went first the shining way ; 
And when the earth on his grave was cast, 
The faithful Ruth could no longer stay ; 
And daisy ne'er blossomed or wild-rose grew 
O'er hearts more tender, leal and true ! 
Love's vows were sweet 
When they sat at Love's feet. 
And Heaven makes love itself complete. 

Louisa S. Upham. 



Recitations for Children. 



C-*"'«^^S#»0.*.0.:^2/ZT/-»-* 



The perplexing question of obtaining 

something suitable for the " little tots " to 
recite, is solved by the choice collection of 
pieces here presented. The pathetic, the 
humorous, the beautiful, in short, every va- 



riety of recitation for the young people, mar 
be found in the following pages, includin^ 
drills and motion recitals, and selections for 
special occasions, all of which are entertain- 
ing and admirably suited to the little folks. 



%'°i 

M_< 



TWO LITTLE MAIDENS, 



SORRY little maiden 
Is Miss Fuss-and- Feather, 
Crying for the golden moon, 
Grumbling at the weather; 
The sun will fade her gown, 

The rain will spoil her bonnet, 
If she ventures out. 
And lets it fall upon it. 



A merry little maiden 

Is Miss Rags-and-Tatters, 
Chatting of the twinkling stars 

And many other matters; 
Dancing in the sunshine, 

Pattering through the rain. 
Her clothes never cause her 

A Single thought or pain. 

Agnes Carr. 



THE WAY TO SUCCEED. 



M 



RIVE the nail aright, boys, 

Hit it on the head ; 
Strike with all your might, boys. 

While the iron's red. 



When youVe work to do, boys, 

Do it with a will ; 
They who reach the top, boys. 

First must climb the hill. 



Standing at the foot, boys, 

Gazing at the sky, 
How can you ever get up, boys. 

If you never try ? 

Though you stumble oft, boys, 

Never be downcast ; 
Try, and try again, boys— 

You'll succeed at last. 



WHEN PA BEGINS TO SHAVE. 




HEN Sunday mornin' comes around 
My pa hangs up his strop, 
An' takes his razor out an' makes 
It go c'flop ! c'flop ! 
An' then he gits his mug an' brush 

An' yells t' me, ** Behave ! " 
I tell y'u, things is mighty still- 
When pa begins t' shave. 



Then pa he stirs his brush around 

An' makes th' soapsuds fly ; 
An' sometimes, when he stirs too hard. 

He gits some in his eye. 
I tell y'u, but it's funny then 

To see pa stamp and rave ; 
But y'u mustn't git ketched^laffin*-^ 

When pa begins t' shave. 

30] 



302 



RECITATIONS FOR CHILDREN. 



Th' hired hand he dassent talk, 

An' even ma's afeard, 
An' y'u can hear th' razor click 

A-cuttin' through pa's beard ! 
An' then my Uncle Bill he laffs 

An' says : *' Gosh ! John, you're brave,' 
An' pa he swears, an' ma jest smiles — 

When pa begins t' shave. 



When pa gits done a-shavin' of 

His face, he turns around, 
And Uncle Bill says : "Why, John, 

Yu'r chin looks like plowed ground I " 
An' then he laffs— jest laffs an' laffs, 

But I got t' behave, 
Cos things's apt to happen quick — 

When pa begins t' shave. 

Harry Douglass Robbins. 



-♦-%- 



-%-*- 



A BOY'S VIEW 

rLL is very nice ! Everybody who 
has not the misfortune to be girl 



will allow this. Nice girl will allow 
it also as far as itself is concerned. Strange girl 
is objectionable in the eyes of girl generally. 
Powder improves girl sometimes, but it 
seldom finds this out until it is suggested to 
it by one of experience. 



Healthy girl costs its parents less money 
for doctors* bills, but persons who write 
romantic tales for circulating libraries choose 
unhealthy and pasty faced girl to write about 
— the swooning kind preferred. 

If I were not boy I think I should like to 
be girl. It's best fun to be boy when their's 
plenty of girl about. 




I^ET still, honey, let ole Mammy tell yer 
'bout de churn, 
Wid de cream en clabber dashin', 
En de buttermilk er-splashin'. 
Dis de chune hit am er-singin' 'fore hit 'gin ter 
turn: 

Jiggery, jiggery, jiggery, jum. 
Bum-bum-bum, 
But-ter-come, 
Massa give old nigger some. 

Jump down, honey, en fotch me dat rag fum 
de table, fer ter wipe off dis hyah led. Tole yer 
so, dat milk gwine ter splatter up hyah 'reckly ! 
Dar now, dat's er good chile, git back in mer 
lap. 

Now de cream, en milk, en clabber's churnin' up 
so fas', 

Hyah hit splatterin' en er-splutterin*. 
En er-mixin', en er-mutterin*. 
In de churn en jroun* de dasher, singin* ter de las' ; 
Jiggery, jiggery, jiggery, jum, 
Bum-bura-bum, 



[MAMMY'S CHURNING SONG. 

But-ter-come, 



Massa gib old nigger some. 

Uh-er ! Teck kyah, honey, keep dem fingers 
way fum dar ! Butter mos' come now : set still 
jis' er leetle w'ile longer. 

Sooen de lumps ob butter '11 be er-floatin* on de 
top — 

Now de ole churn 's fa'rly hummin', 
Tell yer wot, de butter comin* — 
Done come ! Mammy's arm so ti-yerd, now she's 
gwine ter stop. 

Jiggery; jiggery, jiggery, jum. 
Bum-bum-bum, 
But-ter-come, 
Mammy '11 gib de baby some. 

Dar now! {removing the top and giving the 
dasher a circular ^notion] jis' peep in dar en see 
de lumps ob yaller butter er-huddlin' tergedder. 
Now run fotch yer leetle blue mug, en Mammy 
'11 gib yer some nice sweet buttermilk right outen 
dis hyah churn. Edward A. Oldham 



RECITATIONS FOR CHILDREN. 



303 



THE TWENTY FROQS! 



fWENTY froggies went to school. 
Down beside a rushy pool ; 
Twenty little coats of green, 
Twenty vests all white and clean. 
"We must be in time," said they; 
"First we study, then we play; 
That is how we keep the rule 
When we froggies go to school." 

Master Bullfrog, grave and stern, 
Called the classes in their turn ; 
Taught them how to nobly strive. 
Likewise how to leap and dive. 



From his seat upon the log, 

Taught them how to say " Ker-chug,'* 

Also how to dodge a blow 

From the sticks which bad boys throw. 

Twenty froggies grew up fast ; 
Bullfrogs they became at last | 
Not one dunce among the lot, 
Not one lesson they forgot; 
Polished in a high degree, 
As each froggie ought to be ; 
Now they sit on other logs. 
Teaching other little frogb. 



ONLY A BIRD. 




NLY a bird ! and a vagrant boy 

Fits a pebble with a boyish skill 
Into the fold of a supple sling. 

** Watch me hit him. I can an' 
will." 
Whirr ! and a silence chill and sad 

Falls like a pall on the vibrant air. 
From a birchen tree, whence a shower of song 
Has fallen in ripples everywhere. 

Only a bird ! and the tiny throat 

With quaver and trill and whistle of flute, 

Bruised and bleeding and silent lies 
There at his feet. Its chords are mute. 



And the boy, with a loud and boisterous laugh, 
Proud of his prowess and brutal skill. 

Throws it aside with a careless toss— 
" Only a bird ! it was made to kill." 

Only a bird ! yet far away 

Little ones clamor and cry for food — 
Clamor and cry, and the chill of night 

Settles over the orphan brood. 
Weaker and fainter the moaning call 

For a brooding breast that shall never come. 
Morning breaks o'er a lonely nest, 

Songless and lifeless ; mute and dumb. 

Mary Morrison. 



THE WAY TO DO IT. 

Teach the chil^ to make all the gestures and facial expressions. This is a captivating recita) toi 
any " little tot" who can do it well, and this will require patient practice. 



I 



LL tell you how I speak a piece : 
First, I make my bow ; 
Then I bring my words out clear 
And plain as I know how. 

Next, I throw my hands up — so ! 

Then I lift my eyes : 
That's to let my hearers know 

Something doth surprise. 



Next, I grin and show my teeth, 

Nearly every one, 
Shake my shoulders, hold my sides : 

That's the sign of fun. 

Next, I start, and knit my brows. 

Hold my head erect : 
Something's wrong, you see, and I 

Decidedly object. 



;o-4 



RECITATIONS FOR CHILDREN. 



Then I wabble at my knees, 
Clutch at shadows near, 

Tremble well from top to tot . 
That's the sign of fear. 

Now I start, and with a leap, 
Seize an airy dagger. 
" Wretch ! " I cry : that's tragedy. 
Every soul to stagger. 



Then I let my voice grow fraint, 

Gasp, and hold my breath. 
Tumble down and plunge about: 

That's a villain's death. 

Quickly then I come to life. 

Perfectly restored ; 
With a bow my speech is done. 

Now you'll please applaud 

Mary Mapes Dodge 



WE MUST ALL SCRATCH, 




for five little children and one older, a girl, 
»a( h steps forward and recites the verse. 
AID the first little chicken, 
With a queer little squirm, 
" I wish I could find 
A fat little worm." 

Said the next little chicken, 
With an odd little shrug, 
** I wish I could find 
A fat little bug." 

Said the third little chicken, 
With a sharp little squeal, 
"I wish I could find 

Some nice yellow meal." 



who takes the part of the mother. They stand in a row and 



Said the fourth little chicken. 
With a small sigh of grief, 
** I wish I could find 
A green little leaf." 

Said the fifth little chicken, 
With a faint little moan, 
^* I wish I could find 
A wee gravel stone " 

** Now, see here,"' said the mother, 
From the green garden patch, 

*' If you want any breakfast, 
Just come here and scratch." 



KITTY AT 






OME, Kitty dear, I'll tell you what 
We'll do this rainy day ; 
Just you and I, all by ourselveS;. 
At keeping schooh will play. 

The teacher, Kitty, I will be \ 
And yoii shall be the class ; 

And you must close attention give, 
If you expect to pass. 

Now, Kitty, ''C-A-T" spells r^/. 

Stop Inlaying with your tail ! 
You are so heedless, I am sure 

In spelling you v.- ill fail. 

** C-A " oh, Kitty ! do sit still ! 

You must not ch^tse that fly ! 
You'll never learn a single word, 

You do not even try. 



SCHOOL. 

I'll tell you what my teacher says 

To me most ev'ry day — 
She says that girls can never learn 

While they are full of play. : 

So try again — anothei word ; 

"L-A-C-E ' spells ^■' lace.'' 
Why, Kitty, it is not polite 

In school to wash your face ! 

You are a naughty, naughty puss, 

And keep you in I should ; 
But then, I love you, dear, so much 

I don't see how I could ! 

O, see ! the sun shines bright again I 
We'll run out doors and play; 

We'll leave our school and lessons for 
Another rainy day. Kate ULMF-i^ 



4 



RECITATIONS FOR CHILDREN. 



30^ 



A FELLOW'S MOTHER. 



'(^fr' FELLOW'S mother," said Fred the 

UX wise, 

yJIgl With his rosy cheeks and his merry- 

eyes, 
*' Knows what to do if a fellow gets hurt 
By a thump, or a bruise, or a fall in the dirt. 

' A fellow's mother has bags and strings, 
Rags and buttons, and lots of things ; 
No matter how busy she is, she'll stop 
To see how well you can spin your top. 

■ She does not care — not much, I mean — 
If a fellow's face is not always clean; 



And if your trousers are torn at the knee 
She can put in a patch that you'd never see. 

A fellow's mother is never mad. 

But only sorry if you are bad. 

And I'll tell you this, if you're only true, 

She'll always forgive whate'er you do. 

I'm sure of this, ' ' said Fred the wise. 
With a manly look in his laughing eyes, 
I'll mind my mother, quick, every day, 
A fellow's a baby that don't obey." 

M. E. Sangster. 



:@^<^G 



THE STORY KATIE TOLD, 




|0W, stay right still and listen, kitty- 
cat, and I'll tell you a story. 
Once there was a girl. 
She was a pretty good little girl, 
and minded her papa 'n^ mamma everything 
they said, only sometimes she didn't, and then 
she was naughty ; but she was always sorry, 
and said she wouldn't do so any more, and 
her mamma'd forgive her. 

She was going to hang up her stocking. 

*' You'll have to be pretty good, 'lest 
'twon't be filled," said her mamma. 

" 'Less maybe there'll be a big bunch of 
sticks in it/' said her papa. 

Do :you think that's a nice way to talk, 
kittyTcat? I don't. 

So the little girl was good as she could be^ 
'less she was bigger, and didn't cry and slap 
her little sister hardly any at all, and always 
minded her mamma when she came where 
the chimney was, 'specially much. 

So she hung up her stocking. 

And in the night she got awake, and 
wanted it to come morning; but in the 
morning she didn't get awake till 'twas all 
sunshiny out doors. 

Then she ran quick as she could to look at 

(20^X) 



her stocking where she'd hung it ; and true's 
you live, kitty-cat, there wasn't the leastest 
thing in it — not the leastest bit of a scrimp ! 

Oh, the little girl felt dreadfully ! How'd 
you feel, s'pose it had been you, kitty-cat ? 

She 'menced to cry, the little girl did, and 
she kept going harder 'n harder, till by'mby 
she screeched orfly, and her mamma came 
running to see what the matter was. 

** Mercy me ! " said her mamma. " Look 
over by the window 'fore you do that any 
more, Kathie." 

That little girl's name was Kathie too, 
kitty-cat, just the same's mine. 

So she looked over by the window, the 
way her mamma said, and — oh ! there was 
the loveliest dolly's house you ever saw in 
all your born life. 

It had curtains to pull to the sides when 
you wanted to play, and pull in front when 
you didn't. 

There was a bed-room, kitty-cat, and a 
dinner-room, and a kitchen, and a parlor, and 
they all had carpets on. 

And there was the sweetest dolly in the 
parlor, all dressed up in blue silk! Oh, 
dear! And a penano, to play real little 



306 



RECITATIONS FOR CHILDREN. 



tunes on, and a rocking-chair, and — O kitty- 
cat ! I can't begin to tell you half about it. 

I can't about the bed-room, either, and the 
dinner-room. 

But the kitchen was the very bestest of 
all. There was a stove — a teeny tonty mite 
of a one, kitty-cat, — with dishes just zactly 
like mamma's, only littler, of course, and 
fry-pans and everything; and spoons to 



stir with, and a rolling-pin, and two little cut- 
ters-out, and the darlingest baker-sheet ever 
you saw ! 

And the first thing that little girl did was 
to make some teenty mites of cookies, ^cause 
her mamma let her ; and if you'll come right 
down stairs, kitty-cat, I'll give you one. 

'Cause I was that little girl, kitty-cat, all 
the time. 



<• - ^V o "- ^^ 



A LITTLE ROGUE 

i 2)RANDMA was nodding, I rather think ; 
I JT Harry was sly and quick as a wink ; 



He climbed in the back of her great 
arm-chair, 
And nestled himself very snugly there ; 
Grandma's dark locks were mingled with white, 



And quick this- fact came to his sight; 
A sharp twinge soon she felt at her hair. 
And woke with a start, to find Harry there. 
''Why, what are you doing, my child?'* she 

said; 
He answered, "I'se pulling a basting fread?" 



MATTIE'S WANTS AND WISHES. 



I WANTS a piece of cal'co 
To make my doll a dess ; 
I doesn't want a big piece; 
A yard' 11 do, I guess. 
I wish you'd fred my needle. 
And find my fimble, too — 
I has such heaps o' sewin' 
I don't know what to do. 

I wants my Maud a bonnet ; 

She hasn't none at all; 
And Fred must have a jacket ; 

His ozzer one's too small. 
I wants to go to grandma's; 

You promised me I might. 
I know she'd like to see me; 

I wants to go to-night. 

She lets me wipe the dishes, 
And see in grandpa's watch- 

I wish I'd free, four pennies 
To buy some butter-scotch. 

My Hepsy tored her apron 



A tum'lin' down the stair, 
And Csesar's lost his pantloons. 
And needs anozzer pair. 

I wants some newer mittens — 

I wish you'd knit me some, 
* Cause most my fingers freezes. 

They leaks so in the fum. 
I wored 'em out last summer, 

A pullin' George's sled ; 
I wish you wouldn' t laugh so— ■ 

It hurts me in my head. 

I wish I had a cookie; 

I'm hungry's I can be. 
If you hasn't j retty large ones. 

You'd better bring me free. 
I wish I had a p'ano — 

Won't you buy me oPxC to keep ? 
O, dear ! I feels so tired, 

I wants to go to sleep. 

Grace Gordon, 



I 



RECITATIONS FOR CHILDREN. 



80? 



WON'T AND WILL, 




HA'N'T and Won't were two little 
brothers, 
Angry, and sullen, and gruff; 
Try and Will are dear little sisters. 
One can scarcely love them enough. 

Sha'n't and Won't looked down on their noses, 

Their faces were dismal to see ; 
Try and Will are brighter than roses 

In June, and as blithe as a bee. 

Sha'n't and Won't are backward and stupid, 
Little, indeed, did they know ; 



Try and Will learn something new daily, 
And seldom are heedless or slow. 

Sha*n't and Won't loved nothing, no, nothing, 
So much as to have their own way; 

Try and Will give up to their elders. 
And try to please others at play. 

Sha'n't and Won't came to terrible trouble : 

Their story is awful to tell ; 
Try and Will are in the schoolroom, 

Learning to read and spell. 



WILLIE'S BREECHES. 

The boy's garments should suit the description contained in the piece. In reciting the last two lines he 
should point to his head, stretch out his hands to show them, look down at his feet, and then catch hold of 
his pants and spread them out on the sides, putting on at the same time a look of pride. 



I'M just a little boy, you know, 
And hardly can remember, 
When people ask how old I am, 
To tell 'em four last 'vember. 
And yet for all I am so small, 

I made so^many stitches 
For mamma's fingers, that she put 
Her little boy in breeches. 

You may be sure that I was glad ; 

I marched right up and kissed her, 
Then gave my bibs and petticoats. 

And all, to baby sister. 
I never whine, now I'm so fine, 

And don't get into messes ; 
For mamma says, if I am bad, 

She'll put me back in dresses I 



There's buttons up and down my legs. 

And buttons on my jacket ; 
I*d count 'em all, but baby makes 

Just now, an awful racket. 
She's sitting there, behind the chair, 

With blocks, and dolls, and kitty, 
A playing ^^ go to gran'raa's house," 

Alone, 'n that's a pity. 

I think I'll go and help her some, 

I'm sure it would amuse me ; 
So I won't bother any more 

To talk — if you'll excuse me. 
But first I'll stand before the glass, 

From top to toe it reaches ; 
Now look ! there's head, and hands, and feet, 

But all the rest is breeches ! 

Etta G. Salsbury. 



)@S><:^(. 



LITTLE DORA'S SOLILOQUY. 



ITAN'T see what our baby boy is dood for 
anyway : 
He don't know how to walk or talk, he 
don't know how to play ; 
He tears up ev'ry single zing he posser-bil-ly 
tan, 



An' even tried to break, one day, my mamma's 

bestest fan. 
He's al'ays tumblin' 'bout ze floor, aa' gives us 

awful scares, 
An' when he goes to bed at night, he never says 

his prayers. 



308 



RECITATIONS FOR CHILDREN. 



On Sunday, too, lie musses up my go-to-meetin' 

clothes. 
An' once I foun' him hard at work a-pinc'in' 

Dolly's nose ; 
An' ze uzzer day zat naughty boy (now what you 

s'pose you zink?) 
Upset a dreat big bottle of my papa's writin' ink; 
An', 'stead of kyin' dood an' hard, as course he 

ought to done, 
He laughed and kicked his head 'most off, as 

zough he zought 'twas fun. 

He even tries to reach up high, an' pull zings off 
ze shelf, 



An' he's al'ays wantin' you, of course, jus' when 

you wants you' self. 
I rather dess, I really do, from how he pulls my 

turls, 
Zey all was made a-purpose for to 'noy us little 

dirls ; 
An' I wish zere wasn't no such zing as naughty 

baby boys 

Why — why, zat's him a-kyin' now; he makes a 

drefful noise, 
I dess I better run and see, for if he lias — boo- 

hoo ! — 
Felled down ze stairs and killed his-self, whatever 

s-s-s'all I do I 



THE SQUIRREL'S LESSON. 




WO little squirrels, out in the sun, 

One gathered nuts, and the other had 
none; 

*'Time enough yet," his constant refrain; 
*^ Summer is still just on the wane." 

Listen, my child, while I tell you his fate : 
He roused him at last, but he roused him too 

late; 
Down fell the snow from a pitiless cloud, 
And gave little squirrel a spotless white shroud. 

Two little boys in a school-room, were placed, 
One always perfect, the other disgraced ; 



''Time tixv^agh yet for my learning," he said; 
''I will climb, by and by, from the foot to the 

head." 

Listen, my darling ; their locks are turned gray; 
One as a Governor sitteth to-day ; 
The other, a pauper, looks out at the door 
Of the almshouse, and idles his days as of 
yore. 

Two kinds of people we meet every day; 
One is at work, the other at play, 
Living uncared for, dying unknown — 
The busiest hive hath ever a drone. 



-4-V-o— ^ 



LITTLE KITTY. 




NCE there was a little kitty. 
Whiter than snow ; 
In the barn she used to frolic. 
Long time ago ; 
In the barn a little mousie 

Ran to and fro ; 
For she heard the kitty coming, 
Long time ago. 

Two black eyes had little kitty, 

Black as a sloe ; 
And they spied the little mousie. 

Long time ago. 



Nine pearl teeth had little kitty. 

All in a row •. 
And they bit the little mousie. 

Long time ago. 

When the teeth bit little mousie, 

Little mousie cried, " Oh ! '* 
But she got away from kitty, 

Long time ago. 
Kitty White so shyly comes, 

To catch the mousie Gray ; 
But mousie hears her softly stej 

And quickly runs away. 



RECITATIONS FOR CHILDREN. 



509 



LABOR SONG. 

This is a charming exercise for boys and girls. Each should be dressed in the costume of the character 
to be represented, and, as far as possible, should go through the motions called for by the part. The prop- 
erties can all be placed on the stage before the performance begins. Each character comes in alone, those 
who have already entered remaining until the close. All unite in singing the chorus, after each performer 
has spoken or sung (according to choice) the part he or she is to act. Music suitable for this selection is 
herewith furnished. Come in promptly and avoid long pauses. 



The Farmer {with scythe and dressed like a 
farmer,^ 

M glad I am a husbandman, 



I 



My acres broad to till, 
And in the Autumn of the year 
My many barns to fill. 



How happy is the laborer, 

His heart is light and gay» 
And merrily his song rings out. 
Throughout the livelong day. 
The Farmer's Wife {kneading breadT). 
I'm glad I am a farmer's wife. 












--W- 



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«+t ba-l 1 W~ 



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:i^=a^=^: 



-M=js^—W\ 



•*^- 11^ 1 1 ^ r 



p 



t=X- 



-MjbL 



•si- 



_-^p: 



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t= 



J _l^ Fine. 



E:E?^=S-=^; 



-"r-r-x 



How happy is the farmer's life, 

*Tis one of peace and joy. 
To reap and sow, and plow and mow, 

And thus the time employ. 

Chorus. 

* How happy is the laborer, 
For when the day is o'er, 
The evening shadows gather round. 
That he may work no more \ 



^ip^^^i 






■^--:^T 



Chorus D. C. al Fine. 

The wheaten bread to knead, 
And when the men come home from woi4. 

Their hungry mouths to feed. 
I keep my house in perfect trim, 

I sweep and dust and bake, 
And when the busy day is done, 

Sweet is the rest I take. — Chorus. 

The Farmer's Girl {with broom and milk pail) 
I'm glad I am a farmer's girl, 



310 



RECITATIONS FOR CHILDREN. 



I love the farmer's life, 
And if I ever wed at all, 

I'll be a farmer's wife. 
My milking pails make music sweet, 

I'm happy all the day, 
Work gives my cheek the glow of health, 

And drives dull care away. — Chorus. 

The Farmer's Boy {with rake). 
I'm glad I am a farmer's boy, 

To plant and rake and hoe — 
I get upon old Dobbin's back, 

And don't I make him go ? 
I shout and make the welkin ring, 

I sing my merry song, 
And, roaming through the fields and woods, 

I'm jolly all day long. \^Boy whistles Chorus. 



Dairy Maid {with churn.) 
I'm glad I am a dairy maid, 

My butter is so yellow ; 
I know the lad that catches me 

Will be a lucky fellow. 
I'm glad I am a dairy maid, 

My heart is light and gay. 
And with my milk and cream and churn, 

I'm happy all the day. — Chorus. 

Washerwoman {with tub and washboard). 
I'm glad I am a washerwoman. 

Ye know me by my look, 
I'll wash and starch your snowy clothes. 

And fold them like a book ; 
Then sind me in your orders quick 

For I've no time for fooling ; 



{Spoketi). 

I'll do thim to the best of my ability, 

entirely sure. — Chorus. 

The Shoemaker {shoe, last and hammer), 
I'm glad I am a shoemaker, 

With hammer, last and shoe ; 
Without the slippers that I make. 

What would the ladies do ? 
I cut the leather, fit the last — 

To me, my work is play — 
From morn to night, with heart so light, 

I sing and peg away. — Chorus. 

The Blacksmith {with anvil and hatnmer). 
I'm glad I am a blacksmith, . 

A noble horse to shoe, 
I hold within my lap his hoof. 

And whack the shoe-nail through ; 
I swing the hammer and I know 

Just how to make a hit, 
And indigestion, if you please, 

Don't trouble me a bit. — Chorus. 

The School-Teacher {imth slate , book and rule , 
three or four children to take part of scholars). 
I'm glad I am a school-teacher. 

With slate and book and rule. 
To teach the young idea to shoot, 

And extirpate the fool. 
The heights of knowledge I point out. 

And upward lead the way, 
And with my pupils pressing on, 

I'm happy every day, — Chorus. 



— =®(^|^i 



WHAT BABY SAID. 

I AM here. And if this is what they call 
the world, I don't think much of it. 
It's a very flannelly world and smells 
of paregoric awfully. It's a dreadful light 
world, too, and makes me blink, I tell you. 
And I don't know what to do with my hands ; 
I think I'll dig my fists in my eyes. No, I 
won^t. ni scratch at the corner of my 



blanket and chew it up, and then I'll holler; 
whatever happens, I'll holler. And the more 
paregoric they give me, the louder I'll yell. 
That old nurse puts the spoon in the corner 
of my mouth, sidewise like, and keeps .tast- 
ing my milk herself all the while. She spilt 
snuff in it last night, and when I hollered she 
trotted me. That comes of beings a twe- 



1 



RECITATIONS FOR CHILDREN. 



311 



days-old baby. Never mind; when I'm a 
man, I'll pay her back good. 

There's a pin sticking in me now, and if I 
say a word about it, I'll be trotted or fed ; 
and I would rather have catnip-tea. I heard 
folks say, " Hush ! don't wake up Emeline's 
baby ; " and I suppose that pretty, white-faced 
woman on the pillow is Emehne. 

No, I was mistaken ; for a chap was in 
here just now and wanted to see Bob' s baby 



and looked at me and said I was a funny 
little toad, and looked just like Bob. Hf: 
smelt of cigars. I wonder who else I be 
long to! Yes, there's another one — that's 
** Gamma." " It was Gamma's baby, so it 
was." I declare, I don't know who I belong 
to ; but I'll holler, and maybe I'll find out. 
There comes snuffy with catnip tea. I'm 
going to sleep. I wonder why my hands 
won't go where I want them to ! 



I 



ONE LITTLE ACT. 



SAW a man, with tottering steps. 

Come down a graveled walk, one day; 
The honored frost of many years 

Upon his scattered thin locks lay. 
With trembling hands he strove to raise 

The latch that held the little gate, 
When rosy lips looked up and smiled, — 

A silvery child-voice said, ** Please wait. 

A little girl oped wide the gate, 

And held it till he passed quite through, 
Then closed it, raising to his face 

Her modest eyes of winsome blue. 



^'May Heaven bless you, little one," 
The old man said, with tear- wet eyes ; 

" Such deeds of kindness to the old 
Will be rewarded in the skies." 

'Twas such a little thing to do — 

A moment's time it took — no more ; 
And then the dancing, graceful feet 

Had vanished through the school-room door. 
And yet I'm sure the angels smiled, 

And penned it down in words of gold ; 
'Tis such a blessed thing to see 

The young so thoughtful of the old. 



to 




THE LITTLE 

Lines written for Edward 

RAY, how should I, a Httle lad, 
In speaking make a figure ? 
S You're only joking, I'm afraid — 
Do wait till I am bigger. 

But, since you wish to hear my part. 

And urge me to begin it, 
1*11 strive for praise, with all my heart. 

Though small the hope to win it. 

I'll tell a tale how Farmer John 

A httle roan colt bred, sir, 
And every night and every morn 

He watered and he fed, sir. 

Said Neighbor Joe to Farmer John, 
** Aren't you a silly dolt, sir, 



ORATOR- 

Everett, when a child. 

To spend such time and care upon 
A little useless colt, sir? " 

Said Farmer John to Neighbor Joe, 

"I bring my little roan up, 
Not for the good he now can do, 

But will do when he's grown up." 

The moral you can well espy. 
To keep the tale from spoiling; 

The little colt, you think, is I— 
I know it by your smiling. 

And now, my friends, please to excuse 
My lisping and my stammers ; 

I, for this once, have done my best. 
And so — I'll make my manners. 

Thaddeus Mason Harris. 



312 



RECITATIONS FOR CHILDREN. 



I 



A GENTLEMAN. 



KNEW him for a gentleman 
By signs that never fail ; 
His coat was rough and rather worn, 

His cheeks were thin and pale — 
A lad who had his way to make, 

With little time for play; 
I knew him for a gentleman 
By certain signs to-day. 

He met his mother on the street ; 

Off came his little cap. 
My door was shut ; he waited there 

Until I heard his rap. 
He took the bundle from my hand. 

And when I dropped my pen, 
He sprang to pick it up for me — 

This gentleman of ten. 



He does not push and crowd along ; 

His voice is gently pitched ; 
He does not fling his books about 

As if he were bewitched, 
He stands aside to let you pass ; 

He always shuts the door ; 
He runs on errands willingly 

To forge and mill and store. 

He thinks of you before himself, 

He serves you if he can ; 
For, in whatever company, 

The manners make the man. 
At ten or forty, 'tis the same ; 

The manner tells the tale. 
And I discern the gentleman 

By signs that never fail. 

Margaret E. Sangster. 



e-^-v-o-v^H. 



feT'HEl 



BABIES AND KITTENS. 



4 I 



HERE were two kittens, a black and a gray. 
And grandma said with a frown : 
It never will do to keep them both. 
The black one we had better drown," 



** Don't cry, my dear," to tiny Bess, 
" One kitten is enough to keep. 
Now run to nurse, for 'tis growing late 
And time you were fast asleep." 

The morning dawned, and rosy and sweet. 
Came little Bess from her nap, 



The nurse said, " Go in mamma's room, 
And look in grandma's lap." 

*' Come here," said grandma, with a smile, 
From the rocking-chair, where she sat, 

'' God has sent you two little sisters, 
What do you think of that ? " 

Bess looked at the babies a moment, 

With their wee heads, yellow and brown, 

And then to grandma soberly said : 

'' Which one are you going to drown ? " 

L. M. Hadley. 



4 



A DISSATISFIED CHICKEN. 

(*) I HERE was a little chicken that was shut up 
^1 in a shell, 

-^ He thought to himself, ^' I'm sure I can- 
not tell 
Wnat I am walled in here for — a shocking coop 

I find, 
Unfitted for a chicken with an enterprising mind." 

He went out in the barnyard one lovely morn in 
May, 



Each hen he found spring-cleaning in the only 

proper way; 
''This yard is much too narrow — a shocking coop 

I find, 
Unfitted for a chicken with an enterprising mind." 

He crept up to the gateway and shpped betwixt 

a crack, 
The world stretched wide before him, and just as 

widely back; 



RECITATIONS FOR CHILDREN. 



313 



'* This world is much too narrow — a shocking 

coop I find, 
Unfitted for a chicken with an enterprising 

mind. 

^^I should like to have ideals, I should like to 

tread the stars, 
•o get the unattainable, and free my soul from 

bars ; 
I should like to leave this dark earth, and some 

other dwelling find 



More fitted for a chicken with an enterprising 
mind. 

** There's a place where ducks and pleasure boats 
go sailing to and fro, 

There's one world on the surface and another 
world below." 

The little waves crept nearer and, on the brmk 
inclined, 

They swallowed up the chicken with an enter- 
prising mind. A. G, Waters 



THE LITTLE TORMENT. 




kY name's Jack. I'm eight years 
old. I've a sister Arathusa, and 
^ V^ she calls me a little torment. 
I'll tell you why: You know 
Arathusahas got a beau, and he comes to see 
her every night, and they turn the gas 'way, 
'way down 'till you can't hardly see. I like 
to stay in the room with the gas on full 
blaze, but Arathusa skites me out of the 
room every night. 

I checked her once, you better believe. 
You know she went to the door to let Al- 
phonso in, and I crawled under the sofa. 
Then they came in, and it got awful dark, 
and they sat down on the sofa, and I couldn't 
hear nothing but smack ! smack ! smack ! 
Then I reached out and jerked Arathusa's 
foot. Then she jumped and said, '' Oh, 
mercy, what's that?" and Alphonso said 
she was a " timid little creature." " Oh, Al- 
phonso, I'm happy by your side, but when I 



think of your going away it almost breaks 
my heart." 

Then I snickered right out, I couldn't help 
it, and Arathusa got up, went and peeked 
through the keyhole and said, " I do believe 
that's Jack, nasty little torment, he's always 
where he isn't wanted." Do you know this 
made me mad, and I crawled out from under 
the sofa and stood up before her and saidj 
^' You think you are smart because you have 
got a beau. I guess I know what youVe been 
doing; you've been sitting on Alphonso' s lap, 
and letting him kiss you like you let Bill Jones 
kiss you. You ought to be ashamed of your- 
self. If it hadn't been for that old false front 
of yours. Pa would have let me have a bicycle 
like Tom Clifford's. You needn't be grinding 
them false teeth of yours at me, I ain't a-going 
out of here. I ain't so green as I look. I 
guess I know a thing or two. I don't care if 
you are 28 years old, you ain't no boss of me 1" 



THE REASON WHY, 



/V) 1*1^ BOSTON master said, one day, 

l^ " Boys, tell me, if you can, I pray, 
/J\\ Why Washington's birthday should 

shine 
In to-day's history, more than mine ? " 



At once such stillness in the hall 
You might have heard a feather fall ; 
Exclaims a boy not three feet high, 
" Because he never told a lie ! " 



314 



RECITATIONS FOR CHILDREN. 



A CHILD'S REASONING 




HE was ironing dolly's new gown, 
Maid Marian, four years old, 

With her brows puckered down 
In a painstaking frown 

Under her tresses of gold. 

'Twas Sunday, and nurse coming in 

Exclaimed in a tone of surprise : 
*^ Don't you know it's a sin 



Any work to begin 

On the day that the Lord sanctifies? " 

Then, lifting her face like a rose, 
Thus answered this wise little tot : 
"Now, don't you suppose 
The good Lord He knows 
This little iron ain't hot?" 



A SWELL DINNER, 



(^PL. 



PLAIN, grave man once grew quite cele- 
brated ; 
Dame Grundy met him with her 
blandest smile. 
And Mrs. Shoddy, finding him much feted, 
Gave him a dinner in her sweliest style. 



Her dining-table was a blaze of glory ; 

Soft light from many colored candles fell 
Upon the young, the middle aged, and hoary — 

On beauty and on those who " made up " well. 

Her china was a miracle of beauty — 
No service like it ever had been sold, 

And, being unsmuggled, with the price and duty, 
Was nearly worth its weight in gold. 



The flowers were wonderful — I think that maybe 
Only another world has flowers more fair ; 

Each rose was big enough to brain a bab)'. 
And there were several bushels cf them there. 

The serving was the acme of perfection ; 

Waiters were many, silent, deft, and fleet ; 
Their manners seemed a reverent affection 

And oh ! what stacks of things there were to 
eat! 

And yet the man, for all this honor singled, 
Would have exchanged it with the greatest 

joy 

For one plain meal of pork and cabbage mingled, 
Cooked by his mother when he was a boy. 



LITTLE JACK. 




E wore a pair of tattered pants, 
A ragged roundabout, 
And through the torn crown of his hat 
A lock of hair stuck out ; 
He had no shoes upon his feet. 

No shirt upon his back ; 
His home was on the friendless street, 
His name was *' Little Jack." 

One day a toddling baby-boy 

With head of curly hair 
Escaped his loving mother's eyes, 

Who, busy with her care. 



Forgot the little one, that crept 

Upon the railroad near 
To play with the bright pebbles there. 

Without a thought of fear. 

But see ! around the curve there comes 

A swiftly flying train — 
It rattles, roars ! the whistle shrieks 

With all its might and main ; 
The mother sees her child, but stands 

Transfixed with sudden fright ! 
The baby clasps his little hands 

And laughs with lovy delight. 



RECITATIONS FOR CHILDREN. 



315 



Look ! look ! a tattered figure flies 

Adown the railroad track ! 
His hat is gone, his feet are bare ! 

'Tis ragged /' Little Jack ! " 
He grasps the child, and from the track 

The babe is safely tossed — 
A slip ! a cry ! the train rolls by — 

Brave '' Little Jack " is lost. 



They found his mangled body there, 

Just where he slipped and fell, 
And strong men wept who never cared 

For him when he was well. 
If there be starry crowns in heaven 

For little ones to wear, 
The star in ^' Little Jack's " shall shine 

As bright as any there ! 

Eugene J. Hall. 



A STORY OF AN APPLE. 



2ITTLE Tommy and Peter and Archy and 
Bob 
, Were walking one day, when they 

found 
An apple ; 'twas mellow and rosy and red, 
And lying alone on the ground. 

Said Tommy: '^'11 have it." Said Peter: "*Tis 
mine.' ' 

Said Archy : "I've got it ; so there ! " 
Said Bobby : " Now let us divide in four parts, 

And each of us boys have a share." 

*'No, no ! " shouted Tommy, "I'll have it my- 
self." 

Said Peter: "I want it, I say." 
Said Archy : '* I've got it, and I'll have it all ; 

I won't give a morsel away." 

Then Tommy, he snatched it, and Peter, he 
fought, 



('Tis sad and distressing to tell !) 
And Archy held on vv^ith his might and his main, 
Till out of his fingers it fell. 

Away from the quarrelsome urchins it flew, 

And then down a green little hill 
That apple it rolled, and it rolled, and it rolled 

As if it would never be still. 

A lazy old brindle was nipping the grass 

And switching her tail at the flies, 
When all of a sudden the apple rolled down 

And stopped just in front of her eyes. 

She gave but a bite and a swallow or two-— 

That apple was seen nevermore ! 
"I wish," whimpered Archy and Peter and 

Tom, 
"We'd kept it and c*ut it in four.'' 

Sydney Dayre. 



! 



IDLE BEN. 



DLE Ben was a naughty boy ; 

(If you please, this story's true ]) 
He caused his teachers great annoy, 
And his worthy parents, too. 



Idle Ben, m a boastful way. 

To his anxious parents told, 
That, while he was young, he thought he'd play, 

And he'd learn when he grew old. 

" Ah, Ben ' " -:: J l.xc xnother, and dropped a tear, 
*' You'll be sorry for this by-and-by." 



Says Ben, " To me, that's not very clear, 
But at any rate I'll try." 

So Idle Ben, he refused to learn, 

Thinking that he could wait ; 
But, when he had his living to earn, 

He found it was just too late. 

Little girls, little boys, don't delay youi work; 

Some day you'll be women and men : 
Whenever your task you're inclined to shirk. 

Take warning by Idle Ben. 



316- 



RECITATIONS FOR CHILDREN. 



BABY ALICE'S RAIN, 




HE drouth had been long — oh, very long — 
The whole long month of blithesome 
May ; 
The rain-clouds seemed to have wandered wrong. 

From the pinched, brown land so far away: 
Leaves fell ; and the blue-birds hushed their song, 
As field and forest grew dim and gray. 

Then one night the clouds had gathered : the wind 
Came in from the east ; but it needed trust 

To believe that the soft rain lurked behind, 
To cool the fierce heat and to lay the dust : 

So soon we forget that God is kind ! 
So easily cease to hope and to trust ! 

But it rained at morning : oh, welcome fall 
Of the drops from heaven, that had such need ! 

Those drops that have fallen alike on all. 
Of the kindly thought and the cruel deed. 



Since the plant of life was so tin}' «xia small 
When the Mighty Hand had just dropped the 
seed. 

Did we wonder, to see it come at last — 
This coveted blessing? — wee Alice did not, 

As quick to the window all dimpled she passed, 
Springing up in glee from her little cot, 

And bearing a love so holy and vast 
In such limited space — dear baby tot I 

" Look, mamma! look, papa ! — oh yes, it yanee I 

"1 tought dere ood be some 'ittle showers! 
" Detoration Day — Dod take such pains ! 

"Don't 'u see Dod's waterin' de soldiers' 
f 'owers ? " 
Oh, lips of the children! — there's something rC' 
remains 
Yet, of Eden's prime, in this world of ours. 
John Hay Furness. 



GIVE US LITTLE BOYS A CHANCE. 




ERE we are I don't leave us out. 
Just because we're little boys! 

Though we're not so bold and stout, 
In the world we'll make a noise. 
You are many a year ahead. 

But we'41 step by step advance ; 
All the world's htiort you spread — 
Give us little boys a chance ! 

Never slight us in our play ; 

You were once as small as we ; 
We'll be big, like you, some day, 

Then perhaps our power you'll see. 



We will meet you, when we'er grown 
With a brave and fearless glance ; 

Don't think all this y^orld^ s yoitr own- 
Give us little boys a chance ! 

Little hands will soon be strong 

For the work that they must do j 
Little lips will sing their song 

When these early days are through. 
So, you big folks, if we're small. 

On our toes you needn't dance; 
There is room enough for all — 

Give us little boys a cbance ! 



W^ 



PUSS IN THE OVEN. 



HILE sitting at our breakfast rather late 
One winter's morn a little after eight, 
We heard a noise ; 
But from the shuffling of feet and legs. 
Of dririking coff"ee and of eating eggs. 
We girls and boys 



Thought Httle of it, but looked at one another; 
Fred looked at Polly — Polly at her brother. 
Just then we heard a feeble cry, so wee. 
Where could it come from — and what could it be? 
"It's puss," cried one, "she must oc in the 
'aery.' " 



RECITATIONS FOR CHILDREN. 



317 



And so we went with footsteps soft and wary. 
But, no ; Puss in the aery was not found, 
And once again we heard the plaintive sound, 
'' M-e-o-w, M-e-w," 
What could we do ? 

We looked again and Clara searched the house ; 
Was pussy in the coal-hole, with a mouse ? 
'' M-e-w, M-e-o-w," 
Much louder now. 
** She s in the cupboard," so, we search the 

shelves, 
But find no pussy. Have some fairy elves 
Been imitating puss ? But once again 



Poor pussy gives a cry as if i^ pain ; 

The drawers are searched ; in every little nook 

Where puss could hide we take a hasty look. 

*' M-e-w, M-e-o-w," 
Still louder now, 
We all look frightened, so while one declares 
That pussy's hidden underneath the stairs ; 
And while we stood upon the kitchen rug. 
Wondering where pussy was so nice and snug. 
The oven door was opened just a bit 
To warm some toast, when out jumped little Kit / 
And as she shook her furry brindled form. 
She seemed to say, "My bed was rather warm.** 



-4^ 



WHAT WAS IT? 




UESS what he had in his pocket. 
Marbles and tops and sundry toys 
Such as always belong to boys, 
A bitter apple, a leathern ball ? — = 
Not at all. 

What did he have in his pocket ? 
A bubble-pipe, and a rusty screw, 
A brassy watch-key, broken in two. 
A fish-hook in a tangle of string ?— 
No such thing. 



What did he have in his pocket ? 

Ginger-bread crumbs, a whistle he made, 
Buttons, a knife with a broken blade, 
A nail or two and a rubber gun ? — 
Neither one. 

What did he have in his pocket ? 
Before he knew it slyly crept 
Under the treasures carefully kept. 
And away they all of them quickly stole— 
'Twas a hole ! Sidney Dayre. 



THE COBBLER 

(^>t^ WAGGISH cobbler once in Rome, 

l^ X Put forth this proclamation, 
/J|jj\ That he was willing to disclose 

For due consideration, 
A secret which the cobbling world 

Could ill afford to lose ; 
The way to make in one short day 

A hundred pairs of shoes. 
From every quarter soon there came 

A crowd of eager fellows ; 
Tanners, cobblers, bootmen, shoemen, 

Jolly leather sellers, 
All redolent of beef and smoke, 

And cobbler's wax and hides; 
Each fellow paid his thirty pence 

And called it cheap besides. 



'5 SECRET. 

Silence 1 The cobbler enters 

And casts around his eyes, 
Then curls his lips — the rogue ! — then frowns. 

And looks most wondrous wise ; 
" My friends," he says, '''tis simple quite. 

The plan that I propose ; 
And every man of you, I think. 

Might learn it if he chose. 
A good sharp knife is all you need 

In carrying out my plan ; 
So easy is it none can fail 

Let him be child or man. 
To make a hundred pairs of shoes, 

Just go back to your shops, 
And take a hundred pairs of boots 

And cut off all their tops ! ** 



318 



RECITATIONS FOR CHILDREN. 



I'M a poor little kitty, 
And alas ! when born, so pretty, 
That the morning I was found. 
Instead of being drowned, 
I was saved to be the toy 
Of a dreadful baby-boy, 
AVho pinches and who pokes me. 
Holds me by my throat and chokes me. 
And when I could vainly try 
From his cruel clutch to fly, 
Grabs my tail, and pulls so hard 
That some day, upon my word ! 
I am sure 'twill broken be, 
And then everybody'll see 

Such a looking Kitty I 



A SAD CASE. 

That baby has no pity ! 
Thinks I'm " only a kitty *' — » 
I won't stand it, nor would you I 
'Tis no use to cry out m-e-w ! 

Listen ! Some day I shall scratch, 
And he'll find he's met his m.atch; 
That within my little paws 
There are ever so many claws ! 
And it won't be very long, 
If this sort of thing goes on, 
Till there'll be a kitten row 
Such as has not been till now ; 

Then, my lad, there will be found, 
Left upon that battle-ground, 

Such a looking Baby ! 

Clara D. Bates. 



-4-V-o— %-f- 



THE HEIR APPARENT. 

A small boy who can adopt the air and demeanor of the " afflicted parent" will make this soliloquy 




very amusmg. 

BABY ! Yes — a baby — a real, definite, 
unquestionable baby! What of it? 
o you ask. Well, that's queer. 
Don't know vi^hat a baby is ? I'm 
sorry for you. My advice is — go and get one. 

Heigho ! Tm weighted down with my re- 
sponsibility. Solferino in color — no hair on 
its head — kicks — yowls — mews — whines — 
sneezes — squints — makes up mouths — it's a 
singular circumstance — that baby is, and — 
but never mind. 

Cross ? I guess that's a beginning of the 
truth, so far as it's concerned, but, why did 
it happen along just at the moment when 
muslin, linen and white flannel were the 
highest they had been since Adam built a 
hen-house for Mrs. Eve's chickens ? when 
the doctors charge two dollars a squint, four 
dollars a grunt, and, on account of the 
scarcity in the country, take what is left in 
a man's pocket, no discount for cash, and 
«£^nd bill for balance, Jan. 1st? Queer, isn't 
k ? {A pause.) 



A queer little thing is that baby ; a speck 
of a nose like a wart, head as bald as a 
squash, and no place to hitch a waterfall ; a 
mouth just situated to come the gum-game 
and chew milk. Oh ! you should hear her 
sing. I have stuffed my fur cap down its 
throat, given it the smoothing-iron to play 
with ; but that little red lump that looks as 
if it couldn't hold blood enough to keep a 
musketo from fainting, persists to swallow 
its fists, and the other day they dropped 
down its throat, to the crook in its elbows. 
That stopped its music, and I was happy for 
one and a half minutes. 

It is a pleasant thing to have a baby in the 
house — one of your achy kind. Think of 
the pleasures of a father in his night cos- 
tume, trembling in the midnight hour, with 
his warm feet upon a square yard of oilcloth, 
dropping paregoric in a teaspoon, by moon- 
light, the nurse thumping at the door, and 
the wife of your bosom crying " hurray," and 
the baby yelling till the fresco drops from 



RECITATIONS FOR CHILDREN. 



319 



the ceiling. It's a nice time to think of 
dress coats, pants, ties, and white kids. 

Its mother says the darling is troubled 
with — oh, don't mention it. I have got to 
get up in the cold and shiver while the milk 
warms — it uses the bottle. I tried to stop 
its growth the other night ; it was no go. 
1 rocked so hard that I missed stays, and 
sent it slap clear across the room, upsetting 
the flower- stand. It didn't make any noise 
then! Oh, no ! I was a happy man. Oh, 
yes. {A pause.) That baby's mother says 
only wait until it gets bleached (it's been 
vaccinated) and old enough to crawl about 



and feed on pins. Yes, I'm going to wait. 
Won't it be delightful ? 

John, run for the doctor; it's fallen into 
the slop pail ; it's choking with a peach-skin; 
or it has fallen down stairs ; or has swallowed 
the tack-hammer ; or shows signs of the 
mumps, croup, whooping cough, small poXp 
cholera infantum, or some other curious 
thing to let the doctor take the money laid 
by for my winter's donation to the poor. 

Shampooing, curling my hair, wearing nice 
clothes, going to parties ? Oh, no more of 
that ! No — more — of— that. A baby — oh ! 
I'm an old fellow now. Adieu, vain world ! 



-^- 






AN EGG A CHICKEN. 




N Qgg a chicken ! Don't tell me ! 
For didn't I break an tgg to see ? 
There was nothing inside but a yel- 
low ball, 

With a bit of mucillage round it all — 
Neither beak nor bill, 
Nor toe nor quill, 
Not even a feather 
To hold it together; 
Not a sign of life could any one see. 
An Qgg a chicken ? You can't fool me ! 

An tgg a chicken ! Didn't I pick 
Up the very shell that had held the chick — 
So they said? — and didn't I work half a day 
To pack him in where he couldn't stay? 
Let me try as I please, 
With squeeze upon squeeze, 
There is scarce space to meet 
His head and his feet. 
No room for any of the rest of him — so 
That tgg never held that chicken I know." 

Mamma heard the logic of her Httle man, 

Felt his trouble, and helped him, as mothers can ! 

Took an egg from the nest— it was smooth and 

round : 
** Now, my boy, can you tell me what makes this 

sound?" 



Faint and low, tap, tap ; 

Soft and slow, rap, rap ; 

Sharp and quick, 

Like a prisoner's pick. 
''Hear it peep, inside there! " cried Tom, with 

a shout ; 
''How did it get in, and how can it get out? " 

Tom was eager to help — he could break the shell. 
Mamma smiled and said, "All's well that ends weli^ 
Be patient awhile yet my boy." Click, click. 
And out popped the bill of a dear little chick. 

No room had it lacked. 

Though snug it was packed. 

There it was, all complete. 

From its head to its feet. 
The softest of down and the brightest of eyes, 
And so big — why, the shell wasn't half its size. 

Tom gave a long whistle, " Mamma, now I see 
That an egg is a chicken — though the how beats me, 
An tgg isn't a chicken, that I know and declare/ 
Yet a egg isn't a chicken — see the proof ot it there 

Nobody can tell 

How it came in that shell ; 

Once out all in vain 

Would I pack it again. 
I think 'tis a miracle, mamma mine, 
As much as that of the water and wine.* 



320 



RECITATIONS FOR CHILDREN. 



ONE OF GOD'S LITTLE HEROES. 



(5 I HE patter of feet was on the stair, 
* I As the Editor turned in his sanctum 
-^ chair, 

And said — for weary the day had been — 
*' Don't let another intruder in." 

But scarce had he uttered the words, before 
A face peered in at the half-closed door, 
And a child sobbed out — *' Sir, mother said 
I should come and tell you that Dan is dead." 

"And pray who is *Dan'?" The streaming 

eyes 
Looked questioning up, with a strange surprise : 
" Not know him? — Why, sir, all day he sold 
The papers you print, through wet and cold. 

''The newsboys say that they could not tell 
The reason his stock went off so well : 
1 knew ! — with a voice so weak and low. 
Could any one bear to say him ' No ? ' 



' ' And the money he made, whatever it be, 
He carried straight home to mother and me : 
No matter about his rags, he said. 
If only he kept us clothed and fed. 

''And he did it, sir — trudging through rain 

and cold, 
Nor stopped till the last of his sheets was sold ; 
But he's dead — he's dead ! and we miss him 

so ! 
And mother — she thought you might like to 

know ! ' ' 

In the paper, next morning, as " leader," ran 
A paragraph thus : ' ' The newsboy Dan, 
One of God's little heroes, who 
Did nobly the duty he had to do — 
For mother and sister earning bread. 
By patient endurance and toil — is dead." 
Margaret J. Preston. 



'*-5==rs>i 



^4^' 



WHAT THE COWS WERE DOING, 



KITTLE Rosie, walking slowly 
Past the verdant meadow, sees 
^ Many cows, and some are standing. 
Others lying 'neath the trees. 

In the road stands little Rosie, 
Caring not for dust or mud, 



While her eyes are bent upon them 
As they calmly chew their cud. 

Great surprise her face expresses. 
For awhile her lips are dumb ; 

Then she cries out, " Mamma ! Mamma ! 
All the cows are chewing gum ! ' ' 



T: 



MAMMA'S HELP. 



ES, Bridget has gone to the city, 
And papa is sick, as you see. 
And mamma has no one to help her 
But two-year old Lawrence and me. 



" You'd like to know what I am good for, 
' Cept to make work and tumble things down ; 

I guess there aren't no little girlies 
\t your house at home, Dr. Brown. 

*'I've brushed all the crumbs from the table, 
And dusted the sofa and chairs, 



I've polished the hearthstone and fender. 
And swept off the area stairs. 

I've wiped all the silver and china, 

And just dropped one piece on the floor , 

Yes, Doctor, it broke in the middle, 
But I 'spect it was cracked before. 

And the steps that I saved precious mamma ! 

You'd be s'prised, Doctor Brown , if you knew. 
She says if it wasn't for Bessie 

She couldn't exist the day through ! 



RECITATIONS FOR CHILDREN. 



321 



It's ^ Bessie, bring papa some water ! ' 
And * Bessie dear^ run to the door ! ' 

And ' Bessie love, pick up the playthings 
The baby has dropped on the floor ! ' ' 



''Yes, Doctor, I'm 'siderably tired, 
I've been on my feet ail the day ; 
Good-bye ! well, perhaps I will help you 
When your old Bridget 'goes off to stay ! ' 



HOW TWO BIRDIES KEPT HOUSE. 



HE morning was sunshiny, lovely, and 
clear. 
And two little wrens were both hovering 
near, 
Chirping and warbling with wonderful zest. 
Looking for some place to build them a nest. 

They searched the veranda, examined the trees, 
But never a place could they And that would 

please ; 
Till Mabel, whose eyes were as blue as the sky, 
And very observing, their trouble did spy. 

Then; 4uick as the thought darted through her 

wee head, 
''I'll help you, dear birdies," she lispingly said ; 
"You just wait a minute, I'll give you my shoe ; 
'Twill make you a nice nest — as good as if new." 

With much toil and trouble she undid the knot. 
Took off the small shoe, and picked out a spot 
Behind a large pillar : there tucked it away ; 
And soon she forgot it in innocent play. 



But the wrens chirped, " Why, here's a nest ready- 
made, 

In the very best place, too, and quite in the 
shade!" 

They went to work quickly, without more ado. 

To keep house like the woman " that lived in a 
shoe." 

When evening shades came, at the close of the 

day, 
And dear little Mable was tired of play, 
She thought of the birdies, and went off alone. 
To see, if she could, what the birdies had 

done. 

With heads under their wings the wrens were 

asleep ; 
Side by side, in the shoe, they were cuddled 

down deep, 
Then, clapping her hands, Mable said, " Keep 

my shoe ; 
My new ones I'll wear, and this one's foy you." 



•»-i-=S)@S^<^( 



WHY 

-^f^sISTEN, my boy, and you shall know 
III A thing that happened a long time ago, 

JL Jf ^ When I was a boy not as large as 

you, 

And the youngest of all the children, too. 
I laugh even now as I think it o'er, 
And the more I think I laugh the more. 
'Twas the chilly eve of an autumn day j 
We were all in the kitchen, cheery and gay ; 
The fire burned bright on the old brick hearth. 
And its cheerful light gave zest to our mirth. 
My elder sister, addressing me, 

"To-morrow's Thanksgiving, you know," said 
she; 

(2I-X) 



HE WOULDN'T DIE. 

We must kill the chickens to-night, you see. 
Now light the lantern and come with me ; 
I will wring their necks until they are dead, 
And have them all dressed ere we go to bed." 



My sister, unused to sights of blood, 

And, pale with excitement, trembling stood ^ 

But summoning courage, she laid her plans. 

And seized the old rooster with both her hands. 

And, with triumph written all over her face. 

Her victim bore to the open space. 

Then she wrung and wrung with might and 

main. 
And wrung and twisted and wrung again. 



S22 



kEClTATIONS FOR CHILDREN. 



'Till, sure that the spark of life had fled, 
She threw him down on the ground for dead. 

But the rooster would not consent to die, 
And be made up into chicken-pie, 
So he sprang away with a cackle and bound, 
Almost as soon as he touched the ground, 



And hiding away from the candle's light^. 
Escaped the slaughter of that dark night- 
My sister, thus brought to sudden stand, 
And looking at what she held in her hand, 
Soon saw why the rooster was not dead- 
She had wrung off his tail instead of 
head ! 



his 



THE SICK DOLLY. 

It needs a cute little girl who can make appropriate gestures to recite this piece. 




Y dolly is very sick ! 

I don't know what to do ; 

Her little forehead it scowls quite 
horrid, 
Her lips are turning blue. 

She's got a dreadful pain, 

I know it from her face ; 
I'll fetch a pellet and make her smell it^ 

From mamma's medicine-case. 

There, there, my child, lie still; 

That's sure to do you good. 
Now don't be ugly, I'll wrap you snugly 

All in your scarlet hood. 

I know what made her sick ! 

She's had too much to eat ! 
A piece of cheese, six blackberries 

And a little bit of meat I 



That's too much for a doll, 

(Hush, Baby dear, don't cry !) 

All those blackberries, besides stewed 
cherries. 
And huckleberry pie. 

I ought to be ashamed 

(That's just what mamma said) 
To let my dolly commit such folly, 

And get a pain in her head. 

Some gruel would do her good ; 

What fun 'twill be to make it ! 
Just flour and water, and then, my daughter, 

You'll have to wake and take it ! 

I'd like to be a cook ! 

How nice the gruel does smell I 
Oh, there it goes all over her nose I 

Now dolly has got well. 



DAYS OF THE WEEK. 



(5! 1 'hk'^ 
11 ^^ 



For seven little boys and girls. Teacher 

i, days of the week once talking together 
About their housekeeping, their friends 
and the weather. 
Agreed in their talk it would be a nice thing 
For all to march, and dance, and sing; 
So they all stood up in a very straight row, 
And this is the way they decided to go : 

{Let seven children stand up, and as day of 
week is called, take places, each one equipped with 
the thifigs the speaker mentionsi) 



or some large boy or girl should speak. 

First came little Sunday, so sweet and good, 
With a book in her hand, at the head she stood. 
Monday skipped in with soap and a tub, 
Scrubbing away with a rub-a-dub-dub ; 
With board and iron comes Tuesday bright. 
Talking to Monday in great delight. 
Then Wednesday — the dear little cook — came in. 
Riding cock horse on his 'rolling-pin 
Thursday followed, with broom and brush, 
Her hair in a towel, and she in a rush. 



il 



RECITATIONS FOR CHILDREN. 



323 



Friday appeared, gayly tripping along; 
He scoured the knives and then he was gone. 
Saturday last, with a great big tub, 
Into which we all ;ump for a very good rub. 
( The children march and si?tg to the tune of 
" Good Morning, Merry Sunshine.''^') 

Children of the week are we, 
Happy, busy, full of glee. 



Often do we come this way. 
And you meet us every day. 
Hand in hand we trip along, 
Singing, as we go, a song. 
Each one may a duty bring, 
Though it be a little thing. 

{All how, and, taking tip the articles, retire from 
the stage in order, Sunday, Monday etc.') 
Mary Ely Page. 



POPPING CORN. 




ND there they sat, a popping corn, 
John Styles and Susan Cutter — 
John Styles as fat as any ox 
And Susan fat as butter. 

And there they sat and shelled the corn. 
And raked and stirred the fire, 

And talked of different kinds of care. 
And hitched their chairs up nigher. 

Then Susan she the popper shook, 
Then John lie shook the popper, 

Till both their faces grew as red 
As saucepans made of copper. 

And then they shelled, and popped and ate. 

All kinds of fun a-poking, 
While he haw-hawed at her remarks. 

And she laughed at his joking. 



And olsill they popped, and still they ate— 
John's mouth was like a hopper — 

And stiri'ed the fire and sprinkled salt. 
And shook and shook the nopper. 

The clock struck nine — the clock struck ten, 
And still the corn kept popping; 

It struck eleven, and then struck twelve, 
And still no signs of stopping. 

And John he ate, and Sue she thought — ^ 
The corn did pop and patter — 

Till John cried out, ''The corn's afire | 
Why, Susan, what's the matter?" 

Said she, ** John Styles, it's one o'clock; 
You'll die of indigestion ; 

I'm sick of all this popping corn- 
Why don't you pop the question ? '* 



J 



HOW THE FARMER WORKS, 

For Several Boys. 




HIS is the way the happy farmer (i) 
Plows his piece of ground, 
That from the little seeds he sows 
A large crop may abound. 

This is the way he sows the seed, (2) 

Dropping with careful hand, 
<ji all the furrows well prepared 

Upon the fertile land. 
I. Arms extended forward as though holding a plow. 



This is the way he cuts the grain (3) 
When bending with its weight ; 

And thus he bundles it in sheaves, (4) 
Working long and late. 

And then the grain he threshes thus, (5) 

And stores away to keep ; 
And thus he stands contentedly (6) 

And views the plenteous heap. 
2. A motion as of taking seed out of 3 bag or 



basket, and scattering with the right hand. 3. Modon as of cutdng with a scythe. 4. Arms curved and 
extended forward. 5. Hands as though grasping a flail. Strike with some force. 6, Erect position 
arms folded, or hands on the hips. 



324 



RECITATIONS FOR CHILDREN. 
THE BIRDS' PICNIC. 




HE birds gave a picnic, the morning was 
fine, 
They all came in couples, to chat and to 
dine ; 
Miss Robin, Miss Wren and the two Misses Jay, 
Were dressed in a manner decidedly gay. 

And Bluebird, who looks like a handful of sky, 
Dropped in with her spouse as the morning wore 

by; 
The yellow-birds, too, wee bundles of sun, 
With brave chickadees, came along to the fun. 

Miss Phoebe w^as there, in her prim suit of brown ; 
In fact, all the birds in the fair leafy town. 
The neighbors, of course, were politely invited ; 
Not even the ants and the crickets were slighted. 

The grasshoppers came, some in gray, some in 

green. 
And covered with dust, hardly fit to be seen : 



(T-^ 



Miss Miller flew in, with her gown white as 

milk ; 
And Lady Bug flourished a new crimson silk. 

The bees turned out lively, the young and the 

old. 
And proud as could be, in their spencers of gold * 
But Miss Caterpillar, how funny of her, 
She hurried along in her mantle of fur. 

There were big bugs in plenty, and gnats great 

and small — 
A very hard matter to mention them all. 
And what did they do ? Why, they sported and 

sang, 
Till all the green wood with their melody rang. 

Whoe'er gave a picnic so grand and so gay ? 
They hadn't a shower, I'm happy to say. 
And when the sun fell, like a cherry-ripe red, 
The iire-flies lighted them all home to bed. 



-^^ 



A VERY SMART DOG, 



For a boy eight 

I HAVE a pretty little dog, he's just about so 
high,^ 
And sometimes you v/ould think he knew 
as much as you ^ or I ; -^ 
When e'er a letter I would write, he jumps 

around in glee,'' 
For then he knows that he can take it to the mail 
for me,^ 

I hold a stick out in my hands,® o'er it he jumps 

in joy — 
He shoulders "^ arms as soberly as any soldier boy — 
He jumps cm table, box^ or chair, which e'er I 

tell him to. 



or ten years old, 

I think he is the smartest dog — now, really do 
not you? 

My little dog will sit up straight ^ and open wide 

his eyes, 
And hold his pretty paws just so,^" and look so 

very wise. 
If e'er to him I crossly speak ^^ I very soon regret, 
And just as soon my little dog my anger will 

forget. 

He says bow-wow-wow- wow-wow-wow, 
No word but this alone. 

And yet he is the smartest dog that ever I have 
known. 



At place marked i hold right hand out, palm downwards, as if measuring height. At place marked 2, 
point to audience. At 3, the reciter points to himself. At 4, downward motion of hand. At 5, point to 
right. At 6, hold out both hands, as if holding stick. At 7, double up right arm, with hand in front of 
shoulder. At 8, point to left. At 9, hold head up very straight. At 10, cross hands on breast. At li, 
hold out right hand, with finger pointed, as if in command. 



RECITATIONS FOR CHILDREN. 



OPPORTUNITY. 



ADDRESSED TO THE BOYS OF AMERICA. 



[^fY JUDGESHIP is vacant, the ermine 
awaits 
The shoulder of youth, brave, honest 
and true, 

Some one will be standing by fame's open gates, 
I wonder, my boys, will it be one of you ? 






c The president's chair of a great railroad maze. 
Is empty to-day, for death claimed his due, 
The directors are choosing a man for his place, 
J wonder, my boys — Will it be one of you ? 



A pulpit is waiting for some one to fill, 
Of eloquent men there are only a few, 
The man who can fill it must have power to 
thrill; 
The best will be chosen — Will it be one of 
you? 

The great men about us will pass to their rest, 
The places be filled by the boys who pursue 

The search for the highest, the noblest — the best, 
I wonder who'll fill them; I hope 'twill be you 



THE LITTLE LEAVES' JOURNEY. 

A motion exercise for six little girls. 




OME little leaves one autumn day 
From maple ^ branches high. 
Looked down ^ upon the lovely world 
And upward ^ at the sky ; 
Then each one sighed, " Had I * but wings, 
"Away, away I'd fly." 

At last the wind® aweary grew 
Of hearing them complain, 
He' shook the sturdy maple boughs 



With all his might and main ; 
He shook ^ the little leaflets all, 
And down^ they fell like rain. 

They huddled ^° close in little heaps 

To keep all snug and warm, 
When Nature" came, a tender nurse, 

With bed ^^ clothes on her arm ; 
She tucked'^ them 'neath soft snowy folds 

And hid ^* them from the storm. 



I. Motion upward with right hand. 2. Look downward. 3. Look upward. 4. Wave hands back and 
forth. 5. Extend right arm. 6. Close eyes, faces expressive of weariness. 7. Double the hands up, moving 
them quickly backwards and forwards. 8, Same as 7. 9. Move hands downward. 10. Put palms of hands 
together. 11. Look toward right. 12. Extend right arm, looking at same. 13. Downward motion with 
right hand. 14. Motion toward the north. 



THE BROOM DRILL. 

Marches and drills by the little folks are always very attractive and entertaining. The preparation for 
these benefits young people by requiring them to move the body quickly and gracefully, assuming an erect 
attitude, then other positions at the word of command. Such exercises also aid in forming a habit of strict 
attention. 

The Broom Drill is one of the most entertaining, and can readily be learned. It should be practiced 
until it can be performed promptly and without any mistakes. Twelve or sixteen girls — in fact, any even 
number, according to the size of the stage — may take part in it. 

All should be dressed alike, in blouse waist of Turkey red chintz, sleeves and collar trimmed with white 
braid; skirt made of white cheese eloth, trinimed above the hem with band of red chintz, four or five inches 
;'/i(is' a red cap completes the costume 



326 



RECITATIONS FOR CHILDREN. 



During the marching there should be music, and the notes of the piano should be struck sharply. Any 
good march will answer for the music. The following exercises conform very nearly to the " Manual of 
Amis " used in the army. The cuts will be found very serviceable in showing the different positions. 





TANDING in rank near the front 
side of the stage, the teacher gives 
the command to " present arms," 
carry arms," " trail arms," etc. Each com- 
mand consists of two words : the first is to 
indicate what the pupil is to do, and on the 
second word the movement is made, all act- 
ing in concert. 

The following exercises are suitable for 





this drill, and always prove very entertaining 
to the audience. 

Carry — Arms ! — The broom is held in the 
right hand, handle upward, with the hand 
clasping the handle where it joins the brush. 
The left hand hangs at the side. (Fig. i.) 

Present — Arms !— Place the broom with the 
right hand in front )f the centre of the body, 
clasping the handle with the left hand above 





Fig. I 



Fig. 2. 



Fig. 3. 



Fig. 4. 



i 



RECITATIONS FOR CHILDREN. 



327 



the right. Hold the broom perfectly per- 
pendicular. (Fig. 2.) 

Order — Arms ! — Let go the handle with 
the left hand, and carry the broom to the side 
with the right hand ; then drop the broom to 
he floor. (Fig. 3.) 

In place — Rest! — Grasp the handle with 
both hands, the left above the right, and place 
both hands in front of the lower part of the 
breast. (Fig. 4,) 

Trail — Arms ! — Grasp the handle with the 
right hand and incline it forward, the broom 
behind, resting on the floor. (Fig. 5.) 



crossing opposite the middle of left shoulder; 
right forearm horizontal ; forearms and han- 
dle near the body. (Fig. /.) 

Secure — Arms ! — Advance the broom 
slightly with the right hand, turn the handle 
to the front with the left hand. At the same 
time change the position of the right hand, 
placing it further up the handle, drop the 
handle to the front, placing the broom where 
joined with the handle, under the right arm. 
(Fig. 8.) 

Reverse — Arms ! — -Lift the broom vertically 
with the right hand, clasD the stick with the 






Fig. 5. 



Fig. 6. 



Fig. 7. 



Fig. 8. 



Attention — Q-^PCBiG^K- — Half face to the 
right, carrying the heel six inches to the rear 
and three inches to the right of the left, turn- 
ing the toes of both feet slightly inward ; at 
the same time drop the stick into the left 
hand, elbow against the body, point of stick 
at the height of the chin*, right hand grasping 
the stick just above the brush and supporting 
it firmly against the right hip. (Fig. 6.) 

Port—h.VM.^ ! — Raise and throw the broom 
diagonally across the body; grasp it smartly 
with both hands, the right, palm down at the 
base of the stick ; the left, palm up, thumb 
clasping stick ; handle sloping to the left and 



left hand ; then, with the right hand grasp 
the handle near the brush. Reverse the 
broom, the hr^^dle dropping to the front, the 
broom passing between the breast and right 
forearm. Press the handle under the arm with 
the left hand until the right elbow can hold it 
in place against the body; pass left hand be- 
hind the back and clasp the stick. (Fig. 9.) 

Inspection — Arms ! — This is executed from 
the " carry arms " position. Lift the broom 
quickly with the right hand, bringing it in 
front of the centre of the body; then grasp 
the handle with the left hand, place] near 
the chin^ and hold it (Fig. 10.) 



328 



RECITATIONS FOR CHILDREN. 



MOVEMENTS OF ATTACK AND 
DEFENSE. 

These can be executed only with open 
ranks, the pupils being placed seven or eight 
feet apart. To so place them, the teacher 
will give the order — 

Right (or Left) open Ranks — March ! — The 
pupils face to the right or left, according to 
the order given, except the one at the ex- 
treme end of the line. The others march^ 
the last of the file halting at every four or 



throw the end of the stick to the front, at 
the height of the chin, grasping it lightly 
with both hands, the right just above the 
brush, the left a few inches higher ; the right 
hand in line with the left hip and both arms 
held free from the body and without con>= 
straint. (Fig. 1 1.) 

Being at the Guard — Advance !- — Move the 
left foot quickly forward, twice its length ; 
follow with the right foot the same distance. 

Retire ! — Move the right foot quickly to 






Fig. 9. 



Fig. 



five steps from the one in the rear, until all 
are the same distance apart. They then face 
front. To close the rank, tur:.: to the right 
or left and march toward the pupil standing 
at the end until halted by the one ahead. 
Then face front. 

Attentio7i — Guard! — At the command 
guard, half face to the right, carry back and 
place the right foot about twice its length to 
the rear and nearly the same distance to the 
right, the feet at little less than a right angle, 
the right toe pointing squarely to the right, 
both knees bent slightly, weight of the body 
held equally on both legs ; at the same time 



Fig. II. 

the rear, twice its length ; follow with the 
left foot the same distance. 

Front — Pass! — Advance the right foot 
quickly, fifteen inches in front of the left, 
keeping right toe squarely to the right ; ad- 
vance the left foot to its relative position in 
front. 

Rear — Pass ! — Carry the left foot quickly 
fifteen inches to the rear of the right ; place 
the right foot in its relative position in rear, 
keeping the rfght toe squarely to the right. 

Riglit — Volt ! — Face to the right, turning 
on the ball of the left foot at the same time 



RECITATIONS FOR CHILDREN. 



329 



carry the right foot quickly to its position in 
rear. 
Left — Volt ! — Face to the left, turning on 



handle upward, the fingers of the left hand 
on the handle, the left elbow touching the 
right wrist. (Fig. 12.] 






Fig. 12. 



the ball of the left foot, at the same time 
carry the right foot quickly to its position in 
rear. 

Right rear and left rear volts are similarly 



Fig. 13. Fig. 14. 

Seconde — Parry ! — Move the point of the 
broom-handle quickly to the left, describing 
a semi-circle from left to right, the left elbow 
in front of the body, the flat of the broom 




Fig. 15. 

executed, facing about on the ball of the left 
foot 

Quarte — Parry ! — Hold the broom in front 
Q>f the left shoulder with the right hand, 




Fig. 16. 

under the right forearm, the right elbow two 
or three inches higher than the right shouldei. 
(Fig. 13.) 
Prime — Parry. — Carry the broom to the 



330 



RECITATIONS FOR CHILDREN. 



left, covering the left shoulder, the handle ! 
downward, the left forearm behind the han- 
dle, the right arm in front of and above the 
eyes. (Fig^. 14."^ 




Fig. 17. 

THRUSTS. 

To Thrust in Tierce. — Straighten the 
right leg, extend both arms, keeping point 
of handle at height of the breast, broom at 
right side of head. (Fig. 15.) 




Fig. 19. 

Thrust in Quarts. — The same as tierce, 
but with the broom on the left side of the 
head. 



LUNGES. 
The lunges are the same as the thrusts, 
except that the left foot is extended farther 
in front. (Fig. 16.) 




Fig. 18. 

Broom to Front — One! — Raise handle 
nearly straight up and down, drop it into 
the hollow of the right shoulder. — Two I — 
Strii<:e quickly by pushing the broom for- 
ward, the handle always resting on the right 
shoulder. (Fig. 17.) 

Right Short — Thrust ! — One ! — H old the 
broom with the right hand to the r^ar, 
left hand by the right breast, the point of the 




Fig. 20. 

handle opposite the centre of the body.—- 
Two! — Thrust forward. (Fig. 18.) 
High Fnme — Parry!— Raise the broom 



RECITATIONS FOR CHILDREN. 



331 



with both hands in front of and higher than 
the head. Hold the handle firmly with 
the right hand, the broom being to the 
right; turn the knuckles of the left hand 
to the front, and let other end of broom 
handle rest on the thumb and forefinger. 
(Fig. 19.) 

To Guard when Kneeling. — Bring the 
toe of the left foot square in front, plant the 
right foot to the rear, kneel on the right 



march in single files according to the diagram' 
furnished below. 

When they meet at C F, separate and 
march to L F and R F, then up sides of stage 
to back, then across back to C B. When they 
meet at C B, form couples and march in 
twos forward on centre line. At C F first 
couple turn to R F, second to L F, third to 
R F, fourth to L F, etc. March up sides to 
back, and when couples meet ^t C B march in 



RB. 



CB. 



€: 



■ r«**c«iim«iaitq«tir«%i 



R.F_ 



0]_ 



LB. 



LR 



knee, bending the left, hold the broom at an 
angle of 45 degrees, pointing directly to the 
front, the right hand pressed firmly against 
the side, the left hand holding the point of 
handle upward. (Fig. 20.) 

THE MARCH. 

There should be music while the pupils are coming 
upon the stage and leaving. Any spirited march 
will answer. 

Girls enter from right and left sides of 
stage at the back, eight on each side, and 



forars to C F. First four turn to R F, second 
four to L F, etc. March up sides to back . 

When the fours meet at C B, form eights 
and march toward front and halt for drill. 
During the march they "carry brooms" in 
the right hand, the stick resting against the 
right shoulder and nearly vertical, the arm 
hanging at nearly its full length near the 
body, the hand grasping the handle of the 
broom just above the sweep (the brush part), 
which rests flat against the side of skirt. 
The thumb and forefinger must be in front. 



RECITATIONS FOR THE SUNDAY-SCHOOL 



It is so difficult to obtain really good selections to be recited at Sunday-school anniversaries and similar 
occasions, that those here presented will be much appreciated. They have the merit of containing good 
sentiments and are therefore appropriate. The best lessons for young and old are often conveyed in simple 
language. 




LITTLE SERVANTS. 

H, what can little hands do 

To please the King of heaven ? 
The little hands some work may try 
To help the poor in misery ; — 
Such grace to mine be given. 

Oh, what can little lips do 

To please the King of heaven? 
The little lips can praise and pray, 
And gentle words of kindness say ; — 

Such grace to mine be given. 

Oh, what can little eyes do 

To please the King of heaven? 
The little eyes can upward look, 
Can learn to read God's holy book;-»- 

Such grace to mine be given. 

Oh, what can little hearts do 

To please the King of heaven ? 
The hearts, if God his Spirit send. 
Can love and trust the children's Friend ; — 

Such grace to mine be given. 

When hearts, eyes, lips and hands unite 

To please the King of heaven. 
And serve the Saviour with delight, 
They are most precious in his sight ; — 

Such grace to mine be given. 

WILLIE AND THE BIRU»:i. 

A little black-eyed boy of five 

Thus spake to his mamma -. 
''Do look at all the pretty birds; 

How beautiful they are ! 
How smooth and glossy are their wings; 

How beautiful their hue ; 
Besides, mamma, I really think 

That they zxt pious, too j " 

P.32 



*' Why so, my dear ? " the mother said, 

And scarce suppressed a smile ; 
The answer showed a thoughtful head, 

A heart quite free from guile : 
" Because, when each one bows his head> 

His tiny bill to wet. 
To lift a thankful glance above 

He never does forget ; 
And so, mamma, it seems to me 

That very pious they must be.** 

Dear child, I would a lesson learn 
From this sweet thought of thine, 

And heavenward, with a glad heart, turn 
These earth-bound eyes of mine ; 

Perfected praise, indeed is given, 
By babes below, to God in heaven, 

A CHILD'S PRAYER. 

Lord, teach a little child to pray. 
And oh ! accept my prayer ; 

Thou canst hear all the words I say. 
For Thou art everywhere. 

A little sparrow cannot fall 

Unnoticed, Lord by Thee; 
And though I am so young and small. 

Thou dost take care of me. 

Teach me to do whate'er is right, 

And when I sin, forgive ; 
And make it still my chief delight 

To serve Thee while I live. 

GOD LOVES ME. 

God cares for every little child 
That on this great earth liveth. ; 

He gives them homes and food and clothe? 
And more than these God giveth;— ^ 



RECITATIOiNS FOR THE SUNDAY-SCHOOL, 



S3S 



He gives them all their loving friends ; 

He gives each child its mother ; 
He gives them all the happiness 

Of loving one another. 

He makes the earth all beautiful ; 

He gives us eyes to see ; 
And touch and hearing, taste and smell, 

He gives them all to me. 

And, better still, he gives his word, 
Which tells how God's dear Son 

Gathered the children in his arms 
And loves them — every one. 

What can a little child give God ? 

From his bright heavens above 
The great God smiles, and reaches down 

To take his children's love. 

THE UNFINISHED PRAYER. 

This beawtiful poem is admirably adapted for a 
church entertainment when spoken by a little girl, 
" Now I lay" — say it, darling; 

^' Lay me," lisped the tiny lips 
Of my daughter, kneehng, bending 
O'er her folded finger tips. 

*' Down to sleep " — " to sleep," she murmured 
And the curly head dropped low ; 

*' I pray the Lord " — I gently addedj 
*' You can say it all, I know." 

** Pray the Lord " — the words came famtiy, 
Fainter still — " my soul to keep ; " 

When the tired head fairly nodded, 
And the child was fast asleep. 

But the dewy eyes half opened. 
When I clasped her to my breast, 

And the dear voice softly whispered, 
" Mamma, God knows all the rest." 

DEEDS OF KINDNESS. 

Suppose the little cowslip 

Should hang its little cup. 
And say, '* I'm such a tiny flower, 

I'd better not grow up." 
How many a weary traveler 

Would miss its fragrant smell ! 
How many a little child would grieve 

To lose it from the dell ! 



Suppose the glistening dew-drops 

Upon the grass should say, 
*' What can a little dew-drop do ? 

I'd better roll away." 
The blade on which it rested. 

Before the day was done, 
Without a drop to moisten it 

Would wither in the sun. 

Suppose the little breezes. 

Upon a summer's day, 
Should think themselves too small to cool 

The traveler on his way ; 
Who would not miss the smallest 

And softest ones that blow, 
And think they made a great mistake 

If they were talking so? 

How many deeds of kindness 

A little child may do, 
Although it has so little strength. 

And little wisdom too ! 
It needs a loving spirit, 

Much more than strength, to prove 
How many things a child may do 

For others by its love. 

A LOT OF DON'TS. 

I believe, if there is one word that grown* 
up folks are more fond of using to us little 
folks, than any other word in the big dic- 
tionary, it is the word D-o-n-t. 

It is all the time " Don't do this," and 
" Don't do that," and " Don't do the other," 
until I am sometimes afraid there will be 
nothing left that we can do. 

Why, for years and years and years, ever 
since I was a tiny little tot, this Vv/ord " Don't" 
has been my torment. It's " Lizzie, don't 
make a noise, you disturb me," and " Lizzie, 
don't eat so much candy, it w^ill make you 
sick," and "Lizzie, don't be so idle," and 
" Don't talk so much," and " Don't soil 
your clothes," and " Don't " everything else. 
One day I thought I'd count how many 
times I was told not to do things ! Just 
think ! I counted twenty-three "don'ts," and 



i^.34 



RECITATIONS FOR THE SUNDAY-SCHOOL. 



I think I missed two or three httle ones be- 
sides. 

But now it is my turn. I have got a chance 
to talk, and l^ni going to tell some of the big 
people when to Don't ! That is what my 
j)iece is about. First, I shall tell the papas 
fnd mammas — Don't scold the children, just 
because you have been at a party the night 
before, and so feel cross and tired. Second, 
Don't fret and make wrinkles in your faces^ 
over things that cannot be helped. I think 
fretting spoils big folks just as much as it 
does us little people. Third, Don't forget 
where you put your scissors, and then say you 
s'pose the children have taken them. Oh ! 
I could tell you ever so many " don'ts," but 
I think I'll only say one more, and that is — 
Don't think I mean to be saucy, because all 
these don'ts are in my piece, and I had to 
say them. E. C. Rook. 

LITTLE WILLIE AND THE APPLE. 

Little Willie stood under an apple tree old, 
The fruit was all shining with crimson and gold, 
Hanging temptingly low — how he longed for a 

bite, 
Though he knew if he took one it wouldn't be 

right. 

Said he, " I don't see why my father should say, 
' Don't touch the old apple tree, Willie, to-day;' 
I shouldn't have thought, now they're hanging so 

low. 
When I asked for just one, he would answer me, 

^No.' 

,' He would never find out if I took but just one, 
Ai":d they do look so good, shining out in the 

sun, 
There are hundreds and hundreds, and he wouldn't 

miss 
So paltry a little red apple as this." 

He stretched forth his hand, but a low mournful 

strain 
Came wandering dreamily over his brain; 



In his bosom a beautiful harp had long laid, 
Which the angel of conscience quite frequently 
played : — 

And he sang, " Little Willie, beware, O beware ! 
Your father is gone, but your Maker is there. 
How sad you would feel, if you heard the Lord 

say, 
' This dear little boy stole an apple to-day.' " 

Then Willie turned round, and, as still as a 

mouse, 
Crept slowly and carefully into the house. 
In his own little chamber he knelt down to pray 
That the Lord would forgive him, and please not 

to say, 
^' Little Willie almost stole an apple to-day." 

THE CHILD'S PRAYER. 

The curtains drawn across the light 

Made darkness in the room. 
And in our watching eyes and hearts 

Fear wrought an answering gloom. 

Grief-wrung, we heard from lips we loved 

The moanings of distress. 
And vainly strove to stifle pain 

With helpless tenderness. 

We scarcely marked the three-years boy 

Who stood beside the bed, 
From whose wet cheeks and quivering lips 

The frightened dimples fled. 

Till all at once, with eager hope, 

A thrill in every word, 
Our darling cried, '^ I guess I'll speak 

About it to the Lord ! " 

He sank upon his bended knee, 
And clasped his hands in prayer. 

While, like a glory, from his brow 
Streamed back his golden hair. 

** O Lord ! " he said, " dear grandma's sick; 
We don't know what to do! 
If I could only make her well, 
I'm sure I would. Won't you ?" 

He rose ; o'er all his childish face 
A subtle radiance shone, 



RECITATIONS FOR THE SUNDAY-SCHOOL. 



335 



As one who on the mount of faith 
Had talked with God alone. 

We gazed each in the other's eyes. 

We almos' held our breath 
Before the fearless confidence 

That shamed our tardy faith. 

But, when our yearning glances sought 

The sufferer's face again, 
A look of growing ease and rest 

Replaced the lines of pain. 

Quick as his trusting prayer to raise, 

Its answer to discern, 
The child climbed up to reach her lips, 

Which kissed him in return. 

" Grandma " — the ringing accents struck 

A new, triumphant chord — 
** I knew you would be better soon, 

Because I asked the Lord ! ' ' 

Mary A. P. HumphreYc 

"MAYN'T 1 BE A BOY?" 

*' Mayn't I be a boy? " said our Mary, 
The tears in her great eyes blue ; 

" I'm only a wee little lassie — 

There's nothing a woman can do. 

** * Tis so ; I heard Cousin John say so — 
He's home from a great college, too— 
He said so just now in the parlor ^ 
* There's nothing a woinmi can do.* ** 

" My wee little lassie, my darling," 
Said I, putting back her soft hair, 

** I want you, my dear little maiden. 
To smooth away all mother's care. 

** Who is it, when pa comes home weary, 
That runs for his slippers and gown ? 
What eyes does he watch for at morning, 
„ Looking out from their lashes of brown ? 

•'And can you do nothing, my darling, 
What was it that pa said last night ? 
* My own little sunbeam is coming, 
I know, for the room is so bright.' 

'* And there is a secret, my Mary — 
Perhaps you will learn it some day— - 



The hand that is willing and loving 
Will do the most work on the way. 

''And the work that is sweetest and dearest—- 

The great work that so many ne'er do— 
The work of making folks happy 
Can be done by a lassie like you." 

GIVE YOUR BEST. 

See the rivers flowing 

Downward to the sea, 
Pouring all their treasures 

Bountiful and free ! 
Yet, to help their giving, 

Hidden springs arise ; 
Or, if need be, showers 

Feed them from the skies. 

Watch the princely flowers 

Their rich fragrance spread ; 
Load the air with perfumes 

From their beauty shed j 
Yet their lavish spending 

Leaves them not in dearth. 
With fresh life replenished 

By their mother earth. 

Give thy heart's best treasures; 

From fair Nature learn ; 
Give thy love, and ask not, 

Wait not, a return. 
And the more thou spendest 

From thy little store, 
With a double bounty 

God will give thee more. 

Adelaide A. Proctor. 

THE BIRDS. 

For six children and an older scholar, who takes the 
part of teacher, and recites the " Response.*' Stand 
in a row and step forward as you recite your lines. 

HUMMING-BIRD. 

1 wish I were a humming-bird, 

A tiny little thing, 
With feathers light and airy. 

And a brilliant rainbow wing; 
Fleet as a sound, I'd fly, I'd fly, 

Away from fear and harm, 
Over the flowers and through the air,, 

Inhaling heavenly balm. 



1 



336 



RECITATIONS FOR THE SUNDAY-SCHOOL 



LARK. 

I'd rather be a lark to rise, 

When the sleep of night is done |. 
And higher, higher through the skies 

Soar to the morning sun ; 
And clearer, sweeter, as I rise, 

With rapture 1 would sing, 
While diadems from heaven's own light 

Would sparkle on my wings. 

NIGHTINGALE. 

I*d like to be a nightingale ; 

She sings the sweetest song; 
The daylight gone, her voice is heard 

In tune the whole night long. 
The stars look down from heaven's dome, 

The pale moon rolls along ; 
And maybe angels live up there, 

And listen to her song. 

EAGLE. 

Of all the birds that sing so sweet. 

Or roam the air so free. 
With pinions firm, and proud, and strong, 

The eagle I would be ; 
On some high mount whose rugged peaks 

Beyond the clouds do rest, 
There, in the blaze of day, Td find 

My shelter and my rest. 

DOVE. 

The humming-bird's a pretty thing, 

The lark flies very high, 
The eagle's very proud and strong. 

The nightingale sings lullaby; 
But, as I want a nature 

That every one can love, 
And would be gentle, mild, and sweet, 

I think I'll be a dove. 

CHICKADEE. 

I'll tell you what I want to be — 
A little, merry, chickadee; 
In the storm and in the snow 
When the cold winds fiercely blow. 
Not to mind the wintry blast, 
Nor bow long the storm may last, 
Active, merry, blithe and free, 
Tbis's the bird I'd like to be. 



RESPONSE. 

I do not want to be a biic. 

And really had not you 
Much rather be like all the birds. 

And yet be children too ? 
The humming-bird, from bloom to bloom 

Inhales the heavenly balm ; 
So we from all may gather good. 

And still reject the harm. 
And, like the lark, our minds arise. 

By inspirations given, 
To bathe our souls, as she her wings, 

In the pure light of heaven. 

The nightingale sings all the night, 

In sweet, harmonious lays ; 
So, in the night of sorrow, we 

Should sing our Maker's praise. 
The eagle, firm, and proud, and strong, 

On his own strength relying. 
Soars through the storm, the lightning's 
glare 

And thunders bold defying. 
Till far above the clouds and storm, 

High on some mountain crest. 
He finds the sun's clear light at last. 

And there he goes to rest. 

Be ours a spirit firm and true, 

Bold in the cause of right. 
Ever steadily onward moving. 

And upward to the light ; 
But still as gentle as the dove. 

As loving and as true ; 
Every word and act be kindness, 

All life's journey through ; 
Always thankful, happy, free; 

Though life's tempests fiercely blow; 
Cheerful as a chickadee 

Flying through the wintry snow. 

Myra A. Shattucf. 

«*COME UNTO ME." 

As children once to Christ v.ere brought 
That he might bless them there, 

So now we little children ought 
To seek the Lord by prayer. 



RECITATIONS FOR THE SUNDAY-SCHOOL. 



337 



And as so many years ago 

Poor babes his pity drew, 
I'm sure he will not let me go 

Without a blessing too. 

Then while, this favor to implorey 

My little hands are spread, 
Do thou thy sacred blessing pour. 

Dear Jesus, on my head. 

THERE IS A TEETOTALER. 

This piece should be spoken by a spirited boy, and 
as he goes upon the stage, some one should cry out, 
■* There's a teetotaler ! " 

Yes, sir, here is a teetotaler, from the crovM 
of his head to the tips of his toes. I've jot 
on teetotal boots, too, that never vjiW walk m 
the way of a drunkard. The other day a 
man asked me about our White Ribbon 
Army. He wanted to know what use there 
is in making so many promises. I told him 
the use was in keeping the promises more 
than in making \}a^vix. 

The boys which belong to our Army have 
something to do besides loafing at the cor- 
ners of the streets, and smoking the stumps 
of cigars they pick out of the gutters It 
makes me sick to think of it ! 

Some boys are dreadfully afraid of losing 
their liberty, so they won't sign our pledge. 
I saw four or five of them the other day. 
They had been off, somewhere, having what 
they call a jolly time; and they were so 
drunk they couldn't walk straight. They 
lifted their feet higher than a sober boy 
would to go upstairs, and I watched them 
till one fell down and bumped his nose. 

Thinks I to myself, there's liberty for you, 
but it's just such liberty as I don't want. I 
would rather walk straight than crooked, I 
would rather stand up than fall down, and I 
would rather go to a party with my sisters, 
and some other pretty girls, than hide away 
with a lot of rough fellows, to guzzle beer 
and whisky. 

(22— X) 



There are plenty of other reasons why I 
am a teetotaler. When I grow up, I would 
rather be a man than a walking wine-cask or 
rum-barrel ; I would rather live in a good 
house than a. poor one, and I would rather be 
loved and respected than despised and hated. 

Now, if these are not reasons enough for 
being a teetotaler, I will give you some more 
the next time we meet. 

AN APPEAL FOR BENEFICENCE. 

J^or a small boy. 

The boy that spoke first to-night said you 
were all welcome. 1 shan't take it back 
You are welcome. You're welcome to see 
and hear; but you're just twice as welcome 
to give. We love to look at you, and we're 
zvilling you should look at us. We're glad 
to have you hear us ; but we want to hear 
you. You haven't any speeches ready ? All 
right ! We don't want to hear those. We 
can make those ourselves — as you've seen. 

What we do want to hear is the rustling 
of Greenbacks and the clinking of Silver, as 
the ushers pass the boxes round. That's a 
kind of music that we appreciate, for it gets us 
our library-books, our papers, our banners, 
and everything else that a Sunday-School 
needs ; and then it's a kind of music that we 
can't make ourselves, and everybody prizes 
what he can't do himself. We do our best now. 
This school has given dollars for benevo- 
lent objects, during the past year. Isn't such 
a school worth helping ? We mean to do bettet 
by-and-by, when we get hold of the money- 
bags. Just now, jK^^^ must do the giving. 

ADDRESS OF WELCOME TO A NEW PASTOk 

To be spoken by a small girl. 

Dear Pastor : — The old folks have askeo. 

you to come and be their pastor, and we 

children want to know if you won't come 

and be ours too. I am sure little folks need 

I a pastor just as much as big ones do, I 



m 



RECITATIONS FOR THE SUNDAY-SCHOOL. 



think they do more, because big folks ought 
to be able to take care of themselves. 

We think the Sunday-school belongs espe- 
cially to us, as we are allowed to say more 
there than we are in church, so we would 
like you to come into the Sunday-school and 
work with us there, and we will gladly pay 
you with our love and sunny smiles. (We 
can't give you our pennies because they have 
to go across the ocean to the poor heathen.) 
If you could only come around through our 
classes every week and help us just a little by 
a word of good cheer, I am sure we would feel 
that you belonged to us and we to you. 

I know pastors have an awful lot to do, 
and they say it is real hard work to preach, 
but if you could say just a little less to the 
old folks, and a little more to the young 
folks, we will help you build up the church 
and make it a big success. So, I hope, dear 
pastor, you will let us call you our own, and 
when you come among us you may be sure 
we will love you and welcome you as the 
children's friend. 

ADDRESS OF WELCOME TO A NEW 
SUPERINTENDENT. 

To be spoken by a small boy. 

Dear Mr. Blank : — I am sent out here 
to-day to tell you how glad we are that you 
are to be our new superintendent. I welcome 
you in the name of the school, and do it most 
heartily. Boys know a good thing when 
they see it — if they didn't Farmer Jones 
wouldn't have to put up sticky fly-paper on 
his peach trees— just to catch flies, of course. 
So, when we were told that you had been 
chosen for our new superintendent, we said 
" that's all right." ' 

There must be an engineer to every train 
if it is to be run properly, at the same time a 
great deal depends on the train and how it is 
made up. Now, I believe there is good 
stuff in our Sunday-school, We would 



make a good train if guided by a good engi- 
neer. We can't run ourselves and keep on 
the track, that's sure. We are quite certain, 
to begin with, that we are on the right track, 
and we know that Mr. Blank can keep us 
there. To get to the end of our journey 
safely, though, will depend much on how well 
our train hangs together. This, boys and 
girls, is our part, and we must do our best. 

We know that love will make the wheels 
go round and charity will bind us together, 
tighter than any cord. We hope our engi- 
neer will be proud of his train. 

OPENING ADDRESS FOR A SUNDAY=SCHOOU 
EXHIBITION. 

I have always been told that children 
should be seen and not heard, but this is 
children's night and we are going to be seen 
and heard too. 

We are very glad to welcome the old 
folks. There are so many here their pres- 
ence would lead us to think they believe 
boys and girls can do something after all. 
Their eyes are on us, and I hope, children, 
that you have brought your best behavior 
with you, because this is a good time and 
place to use it. Perhaps I may be allowed 
to suggest that you keep your eye on the 
old folks, just to see that they conduct them- 
selves properly. 

Boys and girls, we have a great deal to 
say that is worth hearing, and I hope you 
will speak out loud and prompt so that our 
audience will not miss any of the good 
things. We want to make this the best 
exhibition we have ever given, so that when 
our elders go home they will have a better 
impression of us than they ever had before 

CLOSING ADDRESS FOR A SUNDAY=SCHOOL 
EXHIBITION. 

When I found that our superintendent had 
put me last on the programme, I felt, as boys 
often do, that it would be much nicer to be 



RECITATIONS FOR THE SUNDAY-SCHOOL. 



339 



H^rst, buc lie said it was a good plan to keep 
the best wine till the last, so I feel all right 
about it. I know, too, that you will not 
question the superintendent's good taste. I 
mean about ine^ not the wine. He wants me 
to say we are all very much obliged to you 
for coming, and we hope you have had a 
much bigger treat than you expected. 

These exhibitions mean work for the boys 
and girls, as well as for the teachers, but 
work does everybody good, especially boys 
who love base-bal] better than Sunday- 
school. I hope our efforts have been a 
credit to ourselves and to the Sunday- 
school, of which we are all so proud. 

PRESENTATION ADDRESS TO A PASTOR. 

For a young lady. 

Dear Pastor: — It is our delight at this 
season of gifts and good will, to present to 
you a slight token of the esteem in which 
you are held by your Sunday School. To 
say we all love you is to repeat whdt you 
must already know. 

" Out of the fullness of the heart the mouth 
speaketh," but words do not always answer 
our purpose. We like to put them into some 
tangible form, and so to-night we present you 

with this which comes as an expression 

of our sincere love and good wishes. 

We ask you to accept this, not for its in- 
trinsic value, but as a gift from loyal scholars, 
who recognize and appreciate your constant 
and untiring efforts to minister to their needs 
in every way and at all times. 

Do not thank us, dear Pastor. We are 
discharging but a mite of the indebtedness we 
owe you, and you will only add to that debt if 
you persist in returning thanks to us. You 
know how Church people abhor debts, and we 
are trying to put into practice some of your 
preaching. We hope the token will be a con- 
stant reminder, if that were necessary, of our 
unceasing interest in you and your work. 



A PRESENTATION ADDRESS TO A TEACHER. 

Dear Teacher : — We take this occasion 
to acknowledge publicly our deep and sin- 
cere appreciation of the faithful service you 
have rendered us. It is our desire to tender 
you some tangible expression of the sincere 
feeling we have for you and to impress upon 
you the love and good will felt by every 
pupil. 

I, therefore, present you this asking 

you to associate it forever with the names 
and faces of the donors. Through youi 
kind and prayerful aid many of us have 
been led into the way of truth, and will, 
therefore, gratefully remember you as long 
as we live. 

A PRESENTATION ADDRESS TO A SUPER= 

INTENDENT. 

For a young man. 

Mr. Superintendent :— We are going to 
make you a present to-night, and I for one 
think you deserve it. 

Our School has the reputation of being a 
live one, and it is a good deal because there 
is a live man at the head of it. In the past 
year that you have been with us, your pa- 
tience must have been sorely tried, for while 
most of the children are naturally good, some 
are naturally unruly. The young men and 
young women from whom we expect the best 
conduct are often, strange to say, more atten- 
tive to each other than to their lessons. But 
having been first a boy yourself, and perhaps 
later a beau, you have not had the heart to 
be too severe on those who are still young 
pupils in the school of experience. 

By your untiring efforts you have brought 
the Sunday School up to a standard of un- 
usual excellence. For its free and vigorous 
life, we are largely indebted to you. As aJ 
token of that fact please accept this gift. We 
wish its intrinsic value were twice as great. 
But if it conveys, even in a slight degree, the 



340 



RECITATIONS FOR THE SUNDAY-SCHOOL. 



esteem in which you are held by all our 
scholars, young and old, it will serve the pur- 
pose for which it was procured. 

ADDRESS OF WELCOME AFTER ILLNESS. 

To be spoken by a young lady. 

Dear Mr. Blank : — I feel unable to fully 
express to you our joy at seeing you once 
more in your place in the Sunday School. 
It has been hard for us to be deprived of your 
presence, for you had made yourself invalu- 
able to us, but added to the personal loss we 
felt at your absence was the greater sorrow 
that you had been called upon to pass through 
so much physical suffering. 

But, we know that God's hand is always 
leading us, and the same wise purpose that 
causes the shadows to fall, also makes the 
sun to shine, and " the darker the shadow, 
the brighter the sunshine." When, for a time, 
it was feared that you might not be restored 
to us, we felt we could not have it so, but 
our prayers were heard, and our thanks are 
deep and sincere that you are again in our 
midst. We pray that you may long be per- 
mitted to glorify Him who is the great physi- 
cian, in the work to which you are returned. 

ADDRESS OF WELCOME AFTER ABSENCE. 

To be spoken by a young man. 

Dear Pastor: — I want to speak in behalf 
of the younger members of your flock and 
add our hearty welcome to that already voiced 
by our elders. We congratulate you on your 



safe return, and rejoice with you that change 
and rest have reinvigorated your physical 
health. As you come, bringing the fresh 
fruits of added experience and observation, 
you will find us all eager to benefit by what 
has enriched your store. 

Welcome home, then, to all that has suf- 
fered by your absence. The Church with its 
manifold offices has often felt the need of 
your strength and wisdom. Welcome to the 
Sunday-school where your words of help and 
counsel have guided us many times, and 
where your presence has been most up- 
lifting. 

Welcome to the homes and hearts of the 
young and old alike. There is not a fireside 
in our midst that has not been cheered by 
your frequent and timely visits. In the sea- 
sons of joy and sorrow which must come to 
all homes alike, there has been no one to 
whom we could turn and be so sure of loving 
sympathy as yourself. 

Welcome to the privileges and responsi- 
bilities of your calling and to the honor of 
your old title — The Pastor who loves the 
children. We want to give fresh assurance 
of our hearty co-operation in that work which 
you are about to resume. We have learned 
in your absence how much and how great is 
that work. 

Let it be our privilege to share it with you 
and so prove by our deeds, the love we have 
for your labors. 

May Hatheway. 



PART III. 

Programmes for Special Occasions 

CONTAINING 

Cliariiiing Exercises for Fourth-of-July Celebrations; Washington's Birthday; 
Christmas and Thanksgiving; Decoration Day; Public School 
Exhibitions ; Arbor Day; Harvest Homes; Even- 
ing Entertainments, Etc., Etc. 

INCLU^'^iNG A CHOICE COLLECTION OF 

DIALOGUES, TABLEAUX, SUBJECTS FOR DEBATE, ETC. 

PROGRAMME NO. 1 FOR FOURTH OF JULY. 

The following programme can be varied as occasion may require by additional exercises or by substi- 
tuting others for those here suggested. The platform should be decorated with flags and patriotic emblems 
In addition to the singing of patriotic airs, there should be music by a band or orchestra. Each of the 
children should be furnished with a small flag. Let all the exercises be very spirited. 

MUSIC By the Band or Orchestra. 

SINGING Tune: "America." 




^Y country, 'tis of thee, 
Sweet land of liberty, 

Of thee I sing ; 
'Land where my fathers died, 
Land of the pilgrim's pride, 
From every mountain-side 
Let freedom ring. 

My native country, thee— 
Land of the noble free — 

Thy name I love ; 
I love thy rocks and rills, 
Thy woods and templed hills ^ 
My heart with rapture thrills 

Like that above. 

Let music sv/ell the breeze 
And ring from all the trees 

Sweet freedom's song ; 
Let mortal tongues awake ; 
Let all that breathe partake ; 
^ et rocks their silence break— 

The sound prolong. 



Our fathers' God, to Thee, 
Author of liberty. 

To Thee we sing ; 
Long may our land be bright 
With Freedom's holy light ; 
Protect us by Thy might. 

Great God, our King. 

Samuel F. Smith. 

READING The Declaration of Inde- 
pendence. 

RECITATION . . The Fourth of July. 

(5 I O the sages who spoke, to the heroes who 
^1 bled, 

-*- To the day and the deed, strike the 
harp-strings of glory 1 
Let the song of the ransomed remember the dead, 
And the tongue of the eloquent hallow the 
story, 

O'er the bones of the bold 
Be that story long told, 
And on fame's golden tablets their triumphs 
enrolled 

341 



342 



PROGRAMMES FOR SPECIAL OCCASIONS.. 



^^'ho on freedom's green hills freedom's banner 

unfurled, 
And the beacon-fire raised that gave light to the 

world ! 

'I'hty are gone — mighty men ! — and they sleep in 
their fame : 
Shall we ever forget them? Oh, never! no, 
never ! 
Let our sons learn from us to embalm each great 
name, 
And the anthem send down — "Independence 
forever ! " 

Wake, wake, heart and tongue 1 
Keep the theme ever young ; 
Let their deeds through the long line of ages 
be sung 
Who on freedom's green hills freedom's banner 

unfurled, 
And the beacon-fire raised that gave light to the 

world ! 

Charles Sprague. 

MUSIC By Band or Orchestra. 

READING The Vow of Washington. 

05 I HE sword was sheathed : in April's sun 
i I Lay green the fields by freedom won ; 
-^ And severed sections, weary of debates, 

Joined hands at last and were United States. 

O city, sitting by the sea ! 

How proud the day that dawned on thee, 
When the new era, long desired, began. 
And, in its need, the hour had found the man ! 

One thought the cannon salvos spoke ; 

The resonant bell-tower's vibrant stroke. 
The voiceful streets, the plaudit-echoing halls. 
And prayer and ^ymn borne heavenward from 
St. Paul's ! 

How felt the .and in every part 
The strong tl'.rob of a nation's heart, 
As its g^-eat lead'T gave, with reverent awe. 
His pledge to w ion, liberty and law ! 

That pledge the heavens above him heard, 
That vo'A' the sleep of centuries stirred ; 
In world-wid'» wonder listening peoples bent 
Their gaze on freedom's great experiment. 



Could it succeed ? Of honor sold 
And hopes deceived all history told. 
Above the wrecks that strewed the mournful past 
Was the long dream of ages true at last ? 

Thank God ! the people's choice was just, 

The one man equal to his trust, 
Wise beyond lore, and without weakness good, 
Calm in the strength of flawless rectitude ! 

His rule of justice, order, peace, 
Made possible the world's release ; 
Taught prince and serf that power is but a trust, 
And rule, alone, which serves the ruled, is just ; 

That freedom generous is, but strong 
In hate of fraud and selfish wrong. 
Pretense that turns her holy truths to lies. 
And lawless license masking in her guise. 

Land of his love ! v/ith one glad voice 
Let thy great sisterhood rejoice ; 
A century's suns o'er thee have risen and set. 
And, God be praised, we are one nation yet. 

And still, we trust, the years to be 
Shall prove his hope was destiny. 
Leaving our flag with all its added stars 
Unrent by faction and unstained by wars ! 

Lo ! where with patient toil he nursed 
And trained the new-set plant at first. 
The widening branches of a stately tree 
Stretched from the sunrise to the sunset sea. 

And in its broad and sheltering shade, 
Sitting wdth none to make afraid, 
Were we now silent, through each mighty limb, 
The winds of heaven would sing the praise of 
him. 

Our first and best — his ashes lie 

Beneath his own Virginian sky. 
Forgive, forget, O true and just and brave, 
The storm that swept above thy sacred grave ! 

For, ever in the awful strife 

And dark hours of the nation's life. 

Through the fierce tumult pierced his warning 
word, 

Their father's voice his erring chil Iren heard I 



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343 



The change for which he prayed and sought 
In that sharp agony was wrought ; 
No partial interest draws its alien line 
'Twixt North and South, the cypress and the 
pine ! 

One people now, all doubt beyond, 
His name shall be our Union-bond; 
We lift our hands to heaven, and here, and now, 
Take on our lips the old Centennial vow. 

For rule and trust must needs be our-} ; 

Chooser and chosen both our powf .s 
Equaled in service as in rights ; the claim 
Of duty rests on each and all the same. 

Then let the sovereign millions, where 
Our banner floats in sun and air, 
3i'rom the warm palm-lands to Alaska's cold, 
Repeat with us the pledge a century old ! 

John Greenleaf Whittier. 

DECLAMATION . . . The Little Mayflower. 

ND now — for the fulness of time is 
come — let us go up, in imagination 
to yonder hill, and look out upon 
the November scene. That snigle 
dark speck, just discernible through the per- 
spective glass, on the waste of waters, is the 
fated vessel. The storm moans through her 
tattered canvas, as she creeps, almost sinking, 
to her anchorage in Provincetown harbor ; 
and there she lies, with all her treasures, not 
of silver and gold (for of these she has none), 
but of courage, of patience, of zeal, of high 
spiritual daring. 

So often as I dwell in imagination on this 
scene ; when I consider the condition of the 
Mayflower, utterly incapable, as she was, of 
living through another gale ; when I survey 
the terrible front presented by our coast to 
the navigator who, unacquainted with its 
channels and roadsteads, should approach 
it in the stormy season, I dare not call 
it a mere piece of good fortune, that the 
general north and south wall of the shore 
of New England should be broken by this 




extraordinary projection of the cape, run- 
ning out into the ocean a hundred miles, 
as if on purpose to receive and encircle the 
precious vessel. 

As I now see her, freighted with the des- 
tinies of a continent, barely escaped from 
the perils of the deep, approaching the shore 
precisely where the broad sweep of this 
most remarkable headland presents almost 
the only point at which, for hundreds of 
miles, she could, with any ease, have made 
a harbor, and this, perhaps, the very best on 
the seaboard, I feel my spirit raised above 
the sphere of mere natural agencies. 

I see the mountains of New England rising 
from their rocky thrones. They rush for- 
ward into the ocean, setthng down as they 
advance; and there they range themselves, 
as a mighty bulwark around the heaven-di- 
rected vessel. Yes, the everlasting God 
himself stretches out the arm of his mercy 
and his power, in substantial manifestation, 
and gathers the meek company of his wor- 
shipers as in the hollow of his hand. 

Edward Everett. 

MARCH Our Naval Cadets. 

(Twelve or more' boys dressed in naval costume 
and carrying flags.) 

5INGINQ . . . TUNE: Columbia, the Gem 

of the Ocean. 

LAND of a million brave soldiers. 
Who severed the bonds of despair ; 
, O, land of a million true-hearted 

Who failed not to do and to dare I 
May ever thy shores gleam before us. 

With harvests whose wealth shall not cease,' 
May ever in beauty bend o'er us, 

The wings of the white dove of peace. 

CHORUS. 

Hail the glory of Freedom's glad light ! 

Hail the passing of Slavery's night ! 
Hail the triumph of Truth over Error ! 

Hail the glory of Freedom's glad Hght ! 




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Though hushed is the voice of the cannon 

Though silent the loud battle cry, 
There's many to-day, who if needful. 

For Freedom would suffer and die. 
Columbia's sons still are loyal, 

Columbia's sons still are true, 
'Neath the emblem of Justice and Mercy 

The banner of red, white and blue. 

RECITATION To the Ladies. 

(To be prefaced with the following statement : " In 
the year 1768, the people of Boston resol^^ed that 
they would not import any tea, glass, paper, or other 
commodities commonly brought from Great Britain, 
until the act imposing duties upon all such articles 
should be repealed. This poetical appeal to the la- 
dies of the country, ♦^o lend a ' helping hand ' for the 
furtherance of that resolution, appeared in the Boston 
Ncii's Le/fer, anonymously.'') 



^ 



OUNG ladies in town, 
round. 



and those that live 



*- Let a friend at this season advise you ; 

Since money's so scarce, and times growing worse, 

Strange things may soon hap and surprise you. 

First, then, throw aside your topknots of pride; 

Wear none but your own country linen; 
Of economy boast, let your pride be the most 

To show clothes of your own make and spinning. 

What if homespun they say is not quite so gay 
As brocades, yet be not in a passion, 

For when once it is known this is much worn in 
town. 
One and all will cry out — 'Tis the fashion ! 



And, as one, all agree, that you'll not married be 
To such as will wear London factory. 

But at first sight refuse, tell 'em such you will 
choose 
As encourage our own manufactory. 

No more ribbons wear, nor in rich silks appear ; 

Love your country much better than fine things ; 
Begin without passion, 'twill soon be the fashion 

To grace your smooth locks with a twine string 

Throw aside your Bohea, and your Green Hyson 
tea, 

And all things with a new-fashion duty ; 
Procure a good store of the choice Labrador, 

For there'll soon be enough here to suit you. 

These do without fear, and to all you'll appear 
Fair, charming, true, lovely and clever; 

Though the times remain darkish, young men 
may be sparkish. 
And love you much stronger than ever. 

Then make yourselves easy, for no one will teaze ye, 

Nor tax you, if chancing to sneer 
At the sense-ridden tools, who think us all fools ; 

But they'll find the reverse far and near. 

MUSIC By Band or Orchestra. 

TABLEAU . . . Conquered and Conqueror. 

(A soldier dressed as a British redcoat is lying 
down, resting on one elbow and holding up his hand 
to ward off his foe. A soldier dressed in Continental 
uniform stands over him, pointing a bayonet at his 
breast.) 

MUSIC By Band or Orchestra. 



PROGRAMME NO. 2, FOR FOURTH OF JULY. 



MUSIC By Band or Orchestra. 

SINGING TUNE: America. 

/ v^ OD bless our native land ! 
I S~l~ Firm may she ever stand 
^--^ Through storm and night ; 
When the wild tempests rave. 
Ruler of winds and wave ! 
Do thou our country save 
By thy great might. 



For her our prayers shall rise 
To God above the skies. 

On him we wait ; 
Thou who art ever nigh, 
Guardian v/ith watchful eye! 
To thee alone we cry, 

God save the State. 

Our fathers' God ! to thee, 
Author of liberty, 

To thee we sing; 



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345 




Long may our land be bright 
With freedom's holy light; 
Protect us by thy might, 
Great God, our King ! 

READING . . Declaration of Independence. 

RECITATION Our Natal Day. 

H, the Fourth of July ! 

When fire-crackers fly, 

And urchins in petticoats tyrants defy ! 
When all the still air 
Creeps away in despair, 
And clamor is king, be the day dark or fair I 

When freedom's red flowers 

Fall in star-spangled showers. 
And liberty capers for twenty-four hours. 

When the morn's ushered in 

By a sleep-crushing din, 
That tempts us to use philological sin ; 

When the forenoon advances 

With large circumstances. 
Subjecting our lives to debatable chances ; 

When the soldiers of peace 

Their attractions increase. 
By marching, protected with clubs of police ; 

When the little toy gun 

Has its share of the fun. 
By teaching short -hand to the favorite son. 

Oh, the Fourth of July ! 

When grand souls hover nigh ! 
When Washington bends from the honest blue sky! 

When Jefferson stands — 

Famous scribe of all lands — 
The charter of heaven in his glorified hands ! 

When his comrade — strong, high, 

John Adams — comes nigh, 
(For both went to their rest the same Fourth of 
July!) 

When Franklin — grand, droll — 

That could lightnings control. 
Comes here with his sturdy, progressive old soul ; 

When freedom's strong stafl — 

Hancock — with a laugh, 
Writes in memory's album his huge autograph 1 

But let thought have its way, 
And give memory sway ; 



Do we think of the cost of this glorified day ? 
While the harvest-field waves, 
Do we think of those braves 
In the farms thickly planted with thousands of 
graves ? 
How the great flag up there. 
Clean and pure as the air. 
Has been drabbled with blood-drops, and trailed 
in despair ? 

Do we know what a land 

God hath placed in our hand. 
To be made into star-gems, or crushed into 
sand ? 

Let us feel that our race, 

Doomed to no second place, 
Must glitter with triumph, or die in disgrace ! 

That millions unborn. 

At night, noon, and morn. 
Will thank us with blessings, or curse us with 
scorn. 

For raising more high 

Freedom's flag to the sky. 
Or losing forever the Fourth of July ! 

Will Carleton. 

SINGING Tune: *« Hold the Fort." 

H, behold in all its beauty. 
Freedom's flag unfurled ! 
Glorious flag — to us the fairest 
In the wide, wide world. 

CHORUS. 

Proudly float, O flag of Freedom, 

Fair Columbia's pride ! 
For thy stars and stripes of beauty, 

Many a hero died. 

Great the price of Freedom's purchase — 

'Twas the price of life; 
Oh, the pain and loss and sorrow 

Ere the end of strife. 

Ever mindful of the struggle. 
Let us all be true 

To the colors of our nation- 
Red, and white and blu«. 




I 



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RECITATION . . . The Banner of the Sea. 

Y wind and wave the sailor brave has fared 
To shores of every sea , 
But never yet have seamen met or dared 
Grim death for victory 
In braver mood than they who died 
On drifting decks, in Apia's tide, 
While cheering every sailor's pride, 

The banner of the free! 

Columbia's men were they who then went down, 

Not knights nor kings of old, 
But brighter far their laurels are than crown 
Or coronet of gold ; 
Our sailor true, of any crew, 
Would give the last long breath he drew 
To cheer the old red, white and blue. 

The banner of the bold ! 

With hearts of oak, through storm and smoke 
and flame, 
Columbia's seamen long 
Have oravely fought and nobly wrought, that 
shame 
Might never dull their song ; 
They sing the country of the free, 
The glory of the rolling sea, 
The starry flag of liberty. 

The banner of the strong ! 

We ask but this, and not amiss the claim, 

A fleet to ride the wave, 
A navy great to crown the State with fame, 
Though foes or tempests rave ; 
Then, as our fathers did of yore, 
We'll sail our ships to every shore. 
On every ocean wind will soar 

The banner of the brave ! 

Oh ! this we claim, that never shame may ride 

On any wave with thee, 
Thou Ship of State, whose timbers great abide 
The home of liberty ! 
For, so, our gallant Yankee tars. 
Of daring deeds and honored scars, 
Will make the banner of the stars 

The banner of the sea. 

I]omj:r Green. 



m 



MUSIC Cornet Solo. 

ORATION . . What America has Done fo- 
the World. 

FIAT has this nation done to repay 
the world for the benefits we have 
received from others ? We have 
been repeatedly told, and sometimes, too, 
in a tone of affected impartiality, that the 
highest praise which can fairly be given 
to the American mind, is that of possessing 
an enlightened selfishness ; that if the philos- 
ophy and talents of this country, with all 
their effects, were forever swept into oblivion, 
the loss would be felt only by ourselves; and 
that if to the accuracy of this general charge, 
the labors of Franklin present an illustrious, 
it is still but a solitary, exception. 

The answer may be given, confidently and 
triumphantly. Without abandoning the fame 
of our eminent men, whom Europe has been 
slow and reluctant to honor, we would reply, 
that the intellectual power of this people has 
exerted itself in conformity to the general 
system of our institutions and manners ; and 
therefore, that, for the proof of its existence 
and the measure of its force, we must look 
not so much to the works of prominent indi- 
viduals, as to the great aggregate results ; 
and if Europe has hitherto been wilfully 
blind to the value of our example and the 
exploits of our sagacity, courage, invention, 
and freedom, the blame must rest with her, 
and not with America. 

Is it nothing for the universal good of 
mankind to have carried into successful oper 
ation a system of self-government, uniting 
personal liberty, freedom of opinion, and 
equality of rights, with national power and 
dignity; such as had before existed only in 
the Utopian dreams of philosophers ? Is i. 
nothing, in moral science, to have anticipated 
in sober reality, numerous plans of reform 
in civil and ciiminnl {nri'-'prndcnc", v/hich. 



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347 



are, but now, received as plausible theories 
by the politicians and economists of Europe? 
Is it nothing to have been able to call forth 
on every emergency, either in war or peace, 
a body of talented patriots always equal to 
the difficulty? 

Is it nothing to have, in less than a half- 
century, exceedingly improved the sciences 
of political economy, of law, and of medicine, 
with all their auxiliary branches; to have 
enriched human knowledge by the accumu- 
lation of a great mass of useful facts and 
observations, and to have augmented the 
power and the comforts of civilized man, by 
miracles of mechanical invention ? Is it 
nothing to have given the world examples of 
disinterested patriotism, of political wisdom, 
of public virtue; of learning, eloquence^ 
and valor, never exerted save for some 
praiseworthy end ? It is sufficient to have 
briefly suggested these considerations; every 
mind would anticipate me in filling up the 
details. 

No — Land of Liberty I thy children have 
no cause to blush for thee^ What though the 
arts have reared few monuments among us, 
and scarce a trace of the muse's footstep is 
found in the paths of our forests, or along 
the banks of our rivers; yet our soil has 
been consecrated by the blood of heroes, and 
by great and holy deeds of peace. Its wide 
extent has become one vast temple and hal- 
lowed asylum, sanctified by the prayers and 
blessings of the persecuted of every sect, and 
the wretched of all nations. 

Land of Refuge — Land of Benedictions! 
Those prayers still arise, and they still are 
heard : " May peace be within thy walls, and 
plenteousness within thy palaces ! " " May 
there be no decay, no leading into captivity, 
and no complaining in thy streets !" " May 
truth flourish out of the earth, and right- 
eousness look down from Heaven!" 

GuLiAN C. Verplanck. 



MARCH . . Daughters of the Revolution. 

(Twelve or more little girls, dressed in Continental 
costume and carrying flags. They should be drilled 
to perform a march.) 

RECITATION .... Stand up for Liberty- 

^^/E sons of Columbia, who bravely have 
Yj fought 

-*- Tor those rights which unstained from 
your sires had descended. 
May you long taste the blessings your valor has 
brought, 
And your sons reap the soil which your fathers 
defended. 
Let our patriots destroy anarch's pestilent worm, 
Lest our liberty's growth should be checked 
by corrosion ; 
Then let clouds thicken round us : we heed not 
the storm ; 
Our realm feels no shock but the earth's own 
explosion. 

Foes assail us in vain. 
Though their fleets bridge the main ; 
For our altars and laws with our lives we'll 

maintain ; 
For ne'er shall the sons of Columbia be slaves, 
While the earth bears a plant or the sea rolls 
its waves. 

Should the tempest of war overshadow our land. 
Its bolts could ne'er rend freedom's temple 
asunder ; 
For, unmoved, at its portal would Washington 
stand, 
And repulse, with his breast, the assaults of 
the thunder ! 

His sword from the sleep 
Of its scabbard would leap, 
And conduct, with its point, every flash to the 

deep ! 
For ne'er shall the sons of Columbia be slaves. 
While the earth bears a plant or the sea rolls 
its waves. 

Let fame to the world sound America's voice ; 
No intrigues can her sons from their govern- 
ment sever : 



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Hei pride are her statesmen — their laws are her 
choice, 
And shall flourish till liberty slumbers forever. 
Then unite heart and hand, 
Like Leonidas' band, 
And swear to the God of the ocean and land 
That ne'er shall the sons of Columbia be slaves, 
While the earth bears a plant or the sea rolls 
its waves. 

Robert Treat Paine, Jr. 

nU5IC By Band or Orchestra. 



RECITATION 



Off with Your Hat as 
the Flag Goes By. 




FF with your hat as the flag goes by ! 
And let the heart have its say ; 
You're man enough for a tear in your eye 
That you will not wipe away. 



You're man enough for a thrill that goes 

To your very finger tips — 
Ay ! The lump just then in your throat that 
rose 

Spoke more than your partqd lips. 

Lift up the boy on your shoulder high, 
And show him the faded shred — 

Those stripes would be red as the sunset sky 
If death could have dyed them red. 

The man that bore it, with death has lain 

These thirty years or more — 
He died that the work should not be vain 

Of the men who bore it before. 

The man that bears it is bent and old. 
And ragged his beard and gray ; 

But see his proud form grow young and bold, 
At the tune that he hears them play. 

The old tune thunders through all the air. 
And strikes right into the heart ; 

If it ever calls for you, boy, be there ! 
^'^ there- and ready to start I 



Off with your hat as the flag goes by I 
Uncover the youngster's head ! 

Teach him to hold it holy and high, 
For the sake of its sacred dead. 

H. C. BUNNER. 



RECITATION 



The Young Americai^. 




CION of a mighty stock ! 

Hands of iron — hearts of oak— 
Follow with unflinching tread 
Where the noble fathers led. 



Craft and subtle treachery, 
Gallant youth ! are not for thee ; 
Follow thou in word and deeds 
Where the God within thee leads! 

Honesty with steady eye, 
Truth and pure simplicity, 
Love that gently winneth hearts — 
These shall be thy only arts : 

Prudent in the council train. 
Dauntless on the battle-plain. 
Ready at the country's need 
For her glorious cause to bleed ! 

Where the dews of night distill 
Upon Vernon's holy hill ; 
Where above it, gleaming far, 
Freedom lights her guiding star : 

Thither turn the steady eye. 
Flashing with a purpose high ; 
Thither, with devotion meet. 
Often turn the pilgrim feet ! 

Let the noble motto be, 
God — the country — liberty ! 
Planted on religion's rock. 
Thou shalt stand in every shock. 



TABLEAU 



Surrender of Cornwallis. 



(American and British soldiers in the background 
Washington in front and CornwaUis handing hirn 
his sword). 

nUSIC , By Band or Orchestra. 



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349 



PROGRAMME FOR A CHRISTMAS ENTERTAINMENT. 

(A Christmas tree always pleases young people, and what interests them is sure to be appreciated by 
older persons. In the absence of a Christmas tree, loaded with decorations and gifts, the room should be 
trimmed with evergreens; in fact, such decorations are always in order at the merry Christmas time) 




SONG .. Christmas Bells, 

Tune: " Ring the Bells of Heaven." 

ING, O bells, in gladness, 
Tell of joy to-day; 

Ring and swing o'er all the world so 
wide. 

Banish thoughts of sadness, 
Drive all grief away, 
For it is the Merry Christmas tide. 

CHORUS. 

Ring, O bells, from spire and swelling dome, 
Ring and bid the peaceful ages come ; 

Banish thoughts of sadness, 

Drive all grief away, 
For it is the Merry Christmas Day. 

Ring, O bells, the story 
From the ages far; 
Of the Christmas joy and song and light; 
How the wondrous glory 
Of the Christmas star 
Led the shepherds onward through the night ! 

Ring, O bells, in gladness 

Of the Saviour King; 

May your silver chimings never cease; 

Banish thoughts of sadness 

And all nations bring 

Glorious dawning of the Day of Peace. 

Alice Jean Cleator. 

RELIGIOUS EXERCISES . . To be Selected. 
RECITATION . , A Letter to Santa Claus. 

LESSED old Santa Claus ! king of de- 
lights! 
^ i What are you doing these long winter 
nights? 

Filling your budgets with trinkets and toys — 
Wonderful gifts for the girls and the boys ? 
While you are planning for everything nice, 
Pray let me give you a bit of advice- 




Don' t take it hard, if I say in your ear, 
Santa, I think you were partial last year ; 
Loading the rich folks with everything gay. 
Snubbing the poor ones who came in your way: 
Now, of all times in the year, I am sure 
This is the time to remember the poor. 

Little red hands that are aching with cold, 
You should have mittens your fingers to hold ; 
Poor little feet, with your frost-bitten toes, 
You should be clothed in the warmest of hose. 
On the dark hearth I would kindle a light. 
Till the sad faces were happy and bright. 

Don't you think, Santa, if all your life through, 
Some one had alwa3^s been caring for you. 
Watching to guard you by night and by day, 
Giving you gifts you could never repay. 
Sometimes, at least, you would sigh to recall 
How many children have nothing at all? 

Safe in your own quiet chamber at night. 
Cozy and warm in your blankets so white. 
Wouldn't you think of the shivering forms 
Out in the cold and the wind and the storms ? 
Wouldn't you think of the babies who cry. 
Pining in hunger and cold till they die ? 

Blessed old Nick ! I was sure, if you knew it, 
You would remember, and certainly do it ; 
This year, at least, when you open your pack. 
Pray give a portion to all who may lack ; 
Then if you change to have anything over, 
Bring a small gift to your friend — Kitty Clover.' 

RECITATION . Christmas in al! the Lands i 

(For four children. They recite singly and then 
in concert, beginning with the vords in the ''ast 
verse, " Lo, want and sin," etc.) 

FIRST CHILD. 

pROM the wild Northland where the wolfs 
long howl 
Stirs the depths of down in the ocean fowl, 
And the white bear prowls with stealthy creep 
To the spot where the seal lies fast asleep, 



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And the sledges flash through the silence vast 
lAke a glittering dream, now here, now past,- 
On this waste of sparkle and waste of snow 
'Neath skies aflame with a crimson glow; 
The feet of the Christ-child softly fall, 
And Christmas dawn brings cheer to all. 



SECOND CHILD. 

"Tis the homestead low in the quiet vale 
Where the farm-dog follows Dobbin's trail 
To the pasture lot, now cold and bare, 
And sniffs with glee the snow-filled air. 
In this home of busy household joys, 
'Mong the rosy girls and sturdy boys, 
Sweet peace descends on wings of light, 
And all exclaim, '''Tis Christmas night, 
The dear Christ-child is hovering near 
Let each one share our Christmas cheer.'' 

THIRD CHILD. 

*Tis the prairies vast where cyclones sweep. 
And their sturdy men world -harvests reap, 
Where the skies are such an airy blue 
An angel's robe might flutter through ; 
And the lark flings down her music sweet 
A chain of song, each link complete ; 
Then a white day comes, so bland or wild. 
It bears in arms the sweet Christ-child, 
And hearts touch heart and hands touch hand, 
While Christmas light illumes the land. 

FOURTH CHILD. 

'Tis the land of palms and of orange trees, 
Whose lami)s of gold swing in the breeze, 
Where the pickaninny's black eyes glow, 
O'er swarthy cheeks and teeth of snow, 
And the dusky hand is raised to bless 
The gift that makes his misery less ; 
For rich and poor and young and old 
Stand in the charmed ring of gold 
Which Christmas brings. Lo, want and sin 
Flee from the blessed eyes of Him, 
The dear Christ child, who far and near 
Gives Christmas love and Christmas cheer. 

G. A. Brown. 

MUSIC Cornet Solo, or Choir. 




READING . . . Santa Claus on the Train. 

N a Christmas eve an emigrant train 

Sped on through the blackness of 
night. 

And cleft the pitchy dark in twain 
"With the gleam of its fierce headlight. 

In a crowded car, a noisome place, 

Sat a mother and her child ; 
The woman's face bore want's wan trace. 

But the little one only smiled. 

And tugged and pulled at her mother's dress. 
And her voice had a merry ring. 

As she lisped, ''Now, mamma, come and guess 
What Santa Claus' 11 bring." 

But sadly the mother shook her head. 
As she thought of a happier past ; 
"He never can catch us here," she said 
''The train is going too fast." 

"O, mamma, yes, he'll come, I say. 
So swift are his little deer. 
They run all over the world to-day; — 
I'll hang my stocking up here." 

She pinned her stocking to the seat, 

And closed her tired eyes ; 
And soon she saw each longed-for sweet 

In dreamland's paradise. 

On a seat behind the little maid 

A rough man sat apart, 
But a soft light o'er his features played. 

And stole into his heart. 

As the cars drew up at a busy town 

The rough man left the train. 
But scarce had from the steps jumped down 

Ere he was back again. 

And a great big bundle of Christmas joys 
Bulged out from his pocket wide ; 

He filled the stocking with sweets and toys 
He laid by the dreamer's side. 

At dawn the little one woke with a shout, 
'Twas sweet to hear her glee ; 
"I knowed that Santa Claus would find me out* 
He caught the train you ?ee " 



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355 




Though some Ttom smiling may scarce refrain, 

The child was surely right, 
The good St. Nicholas caught the train, 

And came aboard that night. 
For the saint is fond of masquerade 

And may fool the old and wise, 
And so he came to the little maid 

In an emigrant's disguise. 

And he dresses in many ways because 

He wishes no one to know him, 
For he never says, " I am Santa Glaus," 

But his good deeds always show him. 

Henry C. Walsh. 

RECITATION The Waifs. 

T the break "of Christmas day. 

Through the frosty starlight ringing, 
Faint and sweet and far away. 
Comes the sound of children, singing, 
Chanting, singing, 
"Cease to mourn, 
For Christ is born. 
Peace and joy to all men bringing 1 ** 

Careless that the chill winds blow, 

Growing stronger, sweeter, clearer, 
Noiseless footfalls in the snow 

Biinging the happy voices nearer; 
Hear them singing, 
" Winter's drear, 
But Christ is here, 
Mirth and gladness with him bringir'^ ! '* 
''Merry Christmas ! " hear them say 

As the east is growing lighter ; 
** May the joy of Christmas day 

Make your whole year gladder, brighter I ' ' 
Join their singing, 
'■To each home 
Our Christ has come, 
All Love's treasures with him bringing 1 " 
Margaret D eland. 

SONG Welcome Santa Claus. 

Tune: *'Hold the Fort.'* 

'^ROM the cold and frosty northland 
Oh so far away, 
Santa Claus will soon be coming 
In his little sleigh j 




Let us listen for the reindeers* 

Dancing, prancing feet, 
Let us wait old Santa's jolly, 

Jolly face to greet ! 

Listen, don't you hear his sleigh-bells 

Oh so faintly ring, 
Santa Claus is surely coming 

Many gifts to bring ; 
In his busy little workshop 

Many a long, long day, 
Pretty presents he has made 

To give them all away ! 

Oh his sleigh-bells jingle, jingle. 

Very, very near ; 
Can it be that dear old Santa's 

Really almost here ? 
Hark, they cease their silver music, 

Santa Claus has come ! 
Welcome^ welcome, dear old Santa, 

Welcome to each home ! 

ORIGINAL ADDRESS .... By a Person 

Selected. 

RECITAL o . Santa Claus and the Mouse. 

(For boy or girl, who has a stocking widi a hole in 
it, and holds it up in the last verse, shows the hole 
and thrusts one or two fingers through it.) 

NE Christmas eve when Santa Claus 
Came to a certain house, 
To fill the children's stockings there. 
He found a little mouse. 

'*A merry Christmas, little friend," 

Said Santa, good and kind. 
*'The same to you, sir," said the mouse * 

^' I thought you wouldn't mind 

If I should stay awake to-night 
And watch you for awhile." 
"You're very welcome, little mouse," 
Said Santa with a smile. 

And then he filled the stockings up 
Before the mouse could wink.— 

From toe to top, from top to toe 
There wasn't left a chink. 







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*'Now, they won't hold another thing," 
Said Santa Claus, with pride. 
A twinkle came in mouse's eyes, 
But hmiibly he replied : 

"It's not polite to contradict, — 
Your pardon I implore, — 
But in the fullest stocking there 
I could put one thing more." 

•■^Oh, ho ! " laughed Santa, '* silly mouse ! 
Don't I know how to pack? 
By filling stockings all these years, 
I should have learned the knack.' ' 

And then he took the stocking down 

From where it hung so high, 
And said : " Now put in one thing more ; 

I give you leave to try." 

The mousie chuckled to himself, 

And then he softly stole 
Right to the stocking's crowded toe 

And gnawed a little hole ! 

*'Now, if you please, good Santa Claus, 
I've put in one thing more ; 
For you will own that little hole 
Was not in there before." 

How Santa Claus did laugh and laugh ! 
And then he gayly spoke : 
"Well ! you shall have a Christmas cheese 
For that nice little joke." 

If you don't think this story true. 

Why I can show to you 
The very stocking with the hole 

The little mouse gnawed through ! 

Emilie Poulsson. 



RECITATION . 



I 



What Ted Found in his 
Stocking. 



DON'T care, I will gQ\ 
So there, Mamma Mouse ! 

The folks are all sleeping 
All over the house : 



"The stockings are hanging — 
I smell the sweet bits. 
It's enough to drive mousies 
Into wild, crazy fits! '' 



So when old Mrs. Mo 

Went off to her bed. 
The little mouse watched, 

And popped up his head. 

Then smelling 'uis way 

Very nicely diong^ 
He jumped into a stocking. 

So new and so strong. 

But a stri;,„ on a bundle 

Stuck out in a loop. 
And in it he tumbled, 

Tu« poor silly dupe ! 

On, then what bewailings 
Came out of that stocking I 

Such moans and lamentings. 
It really was shocking ! 

" O dear ! and oh dear ! 
I wish I was home ! 
If I'd minded mamma. 
And hadn't 'a' come ! " 

But 'twas all of no use. 

The string was so tight 
That all he could do 

Was to wait for daylight. 

Then Ted gave a shout 

That awoke the whole house; 

For there in his stocking 
Was a little gray mouse ! 

What became of him then 

The cat only can tell, 
But one thing I'll say — 

I know very well 
{By Whole School i7i Co7icert'). 
That he'll never again on a Christmas Evf 
Jump into a stocking without any leave 1 

MUSIC To be Selected, 

SANTA CLAUS To be Selected. 

(Comes in dressed in heavy winter garments, with 
long, white beard and pockets stuffed with toys\ 

DISTRIBUTION OF GIFTS. 



PROGRAMMES FOR SPECIAL OCCASIONS. 



35S 



PROGRAMME FOR DECORATION DAY. 

(Music by band or orchestra can be introduced whenever deemed appropriate). 




5INQINQ . . "Columbia, the Gem of the 

Ocean." 
DECLAMATION . . The Meaning of the Day, 

LL over our land, in every cemetery 
where rests members of our army of 
the dead — and we doubt if any 
burial place has not such sleepers, 
— people are gathered to-day to pay tribute 
to our soldier dead and strew flowers over 
their graves. All hearts turn as by a com- 
mon impulse to these ceremonies. We bring 
our offerings of flowers to the soldiers, but 
it affects them not; they cannot feel the love 
and gratitude that prompt the gift. Their 
lives and deeds have wrought for themselves 
more enduring monuments than sculptured 
marble. We assure the loving soldiers that 
they are not forgotten — that their courage 
and patriotism will always be remembered as 
long as a loyal school boy or school girl may 
live. But this day means more than this, it 
means something for our nation, something 
for posterity; Its belief In that grand old flag 
and what it stands for ; a belief In freedom. 
It means that the boys and girls of to-day, 
the men and women of to-morrow, who share 
in this day's ceremonies, echo the words of our 
fathers, that " this government shall be pre- 
served, come what will, threaten it who may." 

EXERCISE. 
' (For fifteen pupils each carrying a flag, and ges- 
turing as indicated. Pupil 8 should carry a larger 
flag than the others. Seven to the left of eight should 
hold flags to left shoulder ; seven to right of eight, 
should hold flags to right shoulder. When the word 
North is recited, the seven to the right of number 
eight raise their flags, then back to the shoulder; 
when the word Sottfh is recited, the seven to the left 
of numbej" eight lift their flags, then replace to shoul- 
ders. Each might carry in other hand a bunch of 
flowers, and at the word flowers, the bouquets should 
be raisetS as were the flags. The pupils to the left 
could wear gray and those to the right, blue, in some 
(23-x) 



way — in caps, sashes or bows. Number eight should 
be dressed in red, white and blue.) 

1st Pupil. 

There is peace, there is peace in the South and 

the North, 
When the suns of the May-time shall call the 

blooms forth. 

2nd Pupil. 

There is peace in the vale where the Tennessee 

runs — 
Where the river grass covers covers the long silent 

guns. 

jrd Pupil. 

There is peace in Virginia amid the tall corn ; 
Where Lookout's high summit grows bright in 
the morn. 

4th Pupil. 

There is peace where the James wanders down to 

the main ; 
Where the war-torn Savannas are golden with 

grain. 

^th Pupil 

There is peace where the squadrons of carnage 

have wheeled. 
Fierce over Shiloh's shell-furrowed field, 
6th Pupil. 
There is peace in the soil whence the palmettoes 

spring; 
In the sad Shenandoah the harvesters sing. 

ph Pupil. 

There is peace in Manassas, Antietam's dark rills; 

No more throb the drum on the bare Georgian 

hills. 
8th Pupil 
There is peace where the warriors of Gettysburg 

rest ; 
On the ramparts of Sumter the summer bird's nest. 
<^th Pupil. 
There is peace where the ** Father of Waters" 

ran red, 
Where the batteries of Mobile lie soundless and 

dead. 



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PROGRAMMES FOR SPECIAL OCCASIONS. 



lOth Pupil 

There is peace where the rifle hangs mantled with 

dust, 
Where the once reeking saber is sheathed in its rust. 

nth Pupil 

There is peace where the war-hoofs tore up the 

smooth lea, 
Where the hoarse-noted cannon rang over the sea. 

1 2th Pupil 

There is peace in the North, though her soldier 

is yet 
Far away on the field where the fierce columns met. 
ijth Pupil 
There is peace in the South, though her soldier 

is lost 
In the path where the lines of the foeman have 

crossed. 
14th Pupil 
There is peace in the land, and the *' stars and 

the bars ' ' 
Forever have merged in the "stripes and the stars.'' 
i^th Pupil 

There is peace where the flowers cover the tombs, 
And the Blue and the Gray now blend with the 

blooms. 
All 

God grant that this peace may forever be ours ! 
And the Blue and the Gray alike sleep neath the 

flowers ! 

(These last two lines should be recited while flags 
and flowers are held in front, in prayerful attitude, 
eyes of pupils glancing upward.) 

RECITATION Decoration Day. 

JT'S lonesome — sorto' lonesome — it's a Sun- 
d'y day to me. 
It 'pears like — mor'n any day I nearly ever 
see ! 
Yit, with the Stars and Stripes above, a flutterin' 

in the air, 
On ev'ry soldier's grave I'd love to lay a lily 
there. 

They say, though, Decoration Days is generally 

observed — 
Most ev'ry wheres — especially by soldier boys 

that served— ° 



But me and mother never went — we seldom gH 

away — 
In pint of fact, we're alius home on Decoration 

Day. 

They say the old boys marches through the streets 

in columns grand, 
A-follerin' the old war tunes they're playin' on 

the band. 
And citizens all jinin' in — and little children, 

too — 
All marchin' under shelter of the old Red, White 

and Blue, 

With roses ! roses ! roses ! — ev'rybody in the town! 
And crowds of girls in white, just fairly loaded 

down ! 
Oh ! don't the boys know it, from their camp 

across the hill ? 
Don't they see their comrades comin' and the old 

flag wavin' still ? 

Oh! can't they hear the bugle and the rattle of 
the drum ? — 

Ain't they no way under heaven they can rickol- 
lect us some ? 

Ain't they no way we can coax 'em through the 
roses, just to say 

They know that every day on earth is their De- 
coration Day? 

We've tried that, — me and mother, — where Elias 

takes his rest. 
In the orchard, in his uniform, and hands across 

his breast. 
And the flag he died fer smilin' and a-ripplin* in 

the breeze 
Above his grave — and, over that— the robin in 

the trees. 






And yet it's lonesome — lonesome ! It's a Sun- 

d'y-day to me. 
It 'pears like — more'n any day — I nearly ever 

see — 
Yit, with the Stars and Stripes above, a flutterin* 

in the air, 
On ev'ry soldier's grave — I'd love to lay a lily 

there. 

James Whitcomb Riley. 



PROGRAMMES FOR SPECIAL OCCASIONS. 



865 



ACROSriC Memorial Day. 

{Exercise for eleven children. Each carries stand- 
ard on which the letters are pasted in red, white and 
blue, and turns the letter toward the audience as the 
words are recited^ 

|EMORIAL Day again has come, 
When throbs the music of the drum. 




Each muffled accent seems to tell 
Of heroes who in battle fell. 

Memories return to boys in blue, 
Of vanished comrades brave and true. 

On camping ground and battle plain 
Alike they met with want and pain. 

Rivers of blood their courses swept, 
While sad Columbia mourned and wept. 

In fever swamp and prison pen 
Died many of her bravest men. 

All honor to the soldier bands 

Who followed Freedom's stern commands. 

Let each true soldier's noble name, 
Glow brightly on the books of Fame. 

Deeds wrought for truth can never die 
For they are penned in books on high. 

A nation now in reverence stands 

With sorrowing heart and flower-filled hands. 

Years may into long ages glide, 

These names shall still be glorified. 

PAPER Origin of Memorial Day. 

/PTeNERAL JOHN MURRAY was the 
\ 3 I originator of Memorial Day in the 
^""■^ North. While visiting in the South 
in the winter of 1867-68, he noticed the 
touching rite of decorating soldiers' graves 
with flowers by the ladies. Being very much 
impressed with this custom, he instituted a 
similar one at his own home. 

On the 5 th day of May, 1868, Gen. John 
A. Logan, who was then Commander-in- 
chief of the Grand Army of the Republic,, 
established Decoration Day, and by a gen- 
eral order. May 30, 1868, was designated as 
■ a day set apart for the purpose of paying tri- I 



bute to the memory of those brave men who 
died in defense of our country. The na- 
tional encampment held in Washington had 
it incorporated in its rules and regulations, 
May II, 1870. Since then, in many of the 
States, May 30th has been established as a 
holiday, and it is the universal custom to 
decorate the graves of all ex-soldiers, thus 
making it one of the most patriotic days of 
the year, wherein all classes unite in paying 
honor to our heroic dead, and feel a con- 
scious pride in being able to thus show re- 
spect for their memory and the cause for 
which they fought. 

SONG : . . *♦ The Star Spangled Banner." 

EXERCISE. 

(A large urn or vase is placed on a stand decorated 
with the national colors and a bow of black ribbon. 
Around the rim of the vase a beautiful wreath should 
be placed. The stand should be at the front of the 
rostrum, so the pupils may pass behind it. The pu- 
pils representing the various wars should be dressed 
if possible in the costumes of that day — military cos- 
tumes. Beside the urn, a girl representing Liberty 
should stand holding a large flag at half-mast, she 
should dress in white and wear sash of the national 
colors. After reciting, each pupil stands in rear of 
Liberty. When coming upon the stage, each pupil 
salutes the flag before reciting and stands on oppo- 
site side of urn while reciting. When through, 
he gracefully deposits his bouquet into the urn. At 
close of exercise the school arises and salutes the 
flag and repeats the pledge.) 

Liberty {Enters carrying flag and recites standing at 
right of urn ; when through reciting casts her 
flowers into the urn.) 

TREW with flowers the soldier's grave, 
Plant each lovely thing that grows; 
Let the summer breezes wave 
The calla lily and the rose ; 
White and red — the cause, the price ! 
Right, upheld by sacrifice. 

Let the summer's perfumed breath. 
Fragrant with the sweetest flowers, 

Charm the sadness out of death, 
Glorify the mourners' hours. 




356 



PROGRAMMES FOR SPECIAL OCCASIONS. 



Freighted witli their prayers, arise 
Incense of tiieir sacrifice. 

'Tis not valor that we praise, 

Thirst for glory, love of strife ; 
Gentle hearts from quiet ways, 
Turned to save a nation's life, 
Lest in jealous fragments torn 
Freedom's land should come to scorn. 

O'er the Gray, as o'er the Blue, 

Nature's bursting tears will flow ; 
Both were brave, and both were true 
And fought for all they loved below. 
Pity ! nor forbid the tear 
Shed above so sad a bier. 

Cherish, then, the patriot fires, 

Honor loyalty, and trust 
In God that Freedom ne'er expires 
Where virtue guards the martyr's dust, 
Who counted life as little worthy 
And saved the imperiled Hope of Earth." 
Jno. W. Dunbar. 

OUR NATION'S PATRIOTS. 
Revolutionary Pupil. 

I HAD heard the muskets' rattle of the April 
running battle; 
Lord Percey's hunted soldiers, I can see 
their red coats still ; 
But a deadly chill comes o'er me, as the day 

looms up before me, 
When a thousand men lay bleeding on the slopes 

of Bunker HilL 
Here are lilies for the valorous, and roses for the 

brave ; 
And laurel for the victor's crown, and rue for 

lowly grave. 
There's crimson for the blood that flowed that 

Freedom might be free, 
And golden for the hearts of gold that died for 

you and me ; 
Till love no more is loving, we lift our souls and say. 
For liberty and loyalty we bless their names to-day ! 

Civil War Pupil. 

Strew the fair garlands where slumber the dead. 

Ring out the strains like the swell of the sea. 
Heartfelt the tribute we lay on each bed. 

Sound o'er the brave the refrain of the free. 



Sound the refrain of the loyal and free, 
Visit each sleeper and hallow each bed, 

Wave the starred banner from seacoast to se;i 
Grateful the living, and honored the dead. 

Cuban War Pupil {carrying Cuban Flagi) 
New graves we crown with flowers to-ddy 

New homes shall saddened be ; 
For loved ones sleeping far away, 

And some beneath the sea. 

'Twas for humanity and right 

Our loved boys fought and died ; 
To lift the islands into light 
And break the Spanish pride. 

We'll wrap the Bible in the Flag 
And back them with our might. 

And bear them over sea and crag. 
In lofty eagle's flight; 

And break the bands of heathen night, 

And set the islands free ; 
Till Fredom sheds her glorious light 

O'er every land and sea. 

Libei'ty (^In prayerful attitude, the boys standing 
in rear with hats lifted.^ 

O God ! look down upon the land which Thou 
hast loved so well, 

And grant that in unbroken truth her children 
still may dwell; 

Nor while the grass grows on the hiil, and 
streams flow through the vale. 

May they forget their fathers' faith, or in theii 
covenant fail ! 

God keep the fairest, noblest land that lies be- 
neath the sky — 

Our country, our whole country, whose fame 
shall never die. 

PLEDGE. . 
(All stand ; salute flag ; and repeat pledge.) 

E pledge allegiance to our flag 
and the republic for which it 
stands — one nation, indivisible, 
with liberty and justice for all.'' 

' SONG America. 




PROGRAMMES FOR SPECIAL OCCASIONS. 



357 



PROGRAMME FOR WASHINGTON'S BIRTHDAY. 

RECITATION ...... Washington's Day. 

For a little boy. 



MUSIC n . **The Star-Spangled Banner." 

RECITATION .... Washington Enigma. 

To be given by ten little girls with evergreen or 
large printed letters hung around their necks by a 
black thread and adjusted to the proper height. Let 
^he letter be turned as the child speaks. 

Firs^ Child— V^— 

IN the wailing winds my first 
Speaks in faintly murmuring tones. 
Second Child— K— 
While my second's cry will burst 
In the martyr's latest groans. — 

Thii-d Child — S — 
How the noisome serpents scare i 
In them finds my third a place. 

Fourth Child— B.— 
In the homes which mothers share, 
Rules my fourth with gentle grace. 

Fifth Child— I— 
Watch the Indian's scalping knife, 
And my fifth shall greet your sight. 

Sixth Child — N — 
But my sixth is brought to life 
In the moonless ebon night. 

Seventh Child— -Q — 
See the gambler's greed and note 
How my seventh rules supreme. 

Fighth Child— T— 
The latest presidential vote 
Holds secure my eighth, I deem. 

Ninth Child— O — 
From our sorrow, from our woe. 
None can drive my ninth away. 

Te7ithChild—l^— 
Mark the wailing infant — lo ! 
There my tenth holds fullest sway. 

All i?t Concert. 
Join from first to tenth each part, 

And you'll find a noble name. 
Written on each patriot's heart. 

Glorious in our country's fame. 




IT ! how the world remembers ! 
It is many and many a day 
Since the patriot, George Washingtoa, 
Grew old and passed away. 

And yet to-day we are keeping 

In memory of his birth, 
And his deeds of truth and valor 

Are told at every hearth. 

How he fought for independence 

All little schoolboys know ; 
And why he signed the declaration 

So many years ago. 

To be as great as Washington 

I could not if I would ; 
But I've made up my mind that I 

Will try to be as good. 



RECITATION 



. A Little Boy's 

Hatchet Story. 




HEN the great and good George Wash* 
ington 
Was a little boy like me, 
He took his little hatchet 

And chopped down a cherry tree. 

And when his papa called him, 

He then began to cry, 
'' I did it, oh, I did it ; 

I cannot tell a lie!'' 

His papa didn't scold at all. 

But said, " You noble youth, 
I'd gladly lose ten cherry trees 

To have you tell the truth ! " 

But I myself am not quite clear ; 

For if I took my hatchet 
And chopped my papa's cherry treC;, 

Oh, wouldn' i I just catch it ! 



358 



PROGRAMMES FOR SPECIAL OCCASIONS. 




READING . . . , Maxims of Washington. 

Adopted by him at the age of fifteen. 
^T\ EITHER laugh, nor speak, nor lis- 
ten when older people are talking 
together." 
Say not anything that will 
hurt another, either in fun or in earnest.'^ 

" If you say anything funny, don't laugh 
at it yourself, but let others enjoy it." 

" When another person speaks, listen your- 
self, and try not to disturb others.'^ 

" Obey and honor your father and mother.'^ 

" Every action in company ought to be 
with some sign of respect to those present." 

" When you meet with one of greater 
quality than yourself, stop and retire, espe- 
cially if it be at a door or any strait place, to 
give way for him to pass." 

"Speak not evil of the absent, for it is 
unjust." 

" Show not yourself glad at the misfortune 
of another, though he were your enemy." 

" Be not curious to know the affairs of 
others ; neither approach to those that speak 
in private." 

'' Undertake not what you cannot perform, 
but be careful to keep )^our promises." 

" Labor to keep alive in your breast that 
little spark of celestial fire called conscience." 

SINGING Tune: *»My Country." 

NCE more we celebrate 
Birthday of him so great, 

So true and brave ; 
Who struggled not in vain 
Liberty to attain. 
Breaking a tyrant's chain 
His land to save. 

Bravely the patriot band 
Fought 'neath his sure command 

And freedom won ; 
Honor those soldiers all. 
Who did for freedom fall, 
Who followed at the call 

Of Washington. 




While shines in heaven the sun, 
The name of Washington 

Shall glow with light ; 
He feared no tyrant grand, 
But foremost in command, 
Did like a mountain stand 

For cause of right. 

Alice Jean Cleator. 

ORATION . . . The Father of his Country. 

foTHE birthday of the " Father of his 
* I Country ! " May it ever be freshly re- 
membered by American hearts ! May 
it ever re-awaken in them a filial veneration 
for his memory; ever rekindle the fires of 
patriotic regard to the country he loved so 
well; to which he gave his youthful vigor 
and his youthful energy, during the perilous 
period of the early Indian warfare ; to which 
he devoted his life, in the maturity of his 
powers, in the field; to which again he offered 
the counsels of his wisdom and his experi- 
ence, as President of the Convention that 
framed our Constitution ; which he guided 
and directed while in the Chair of State, and 
for which the last prayer of his earthly sup- 
plication was offered up, when it came the 
moment for him so well, and so grandly, and 
so calmly, to die. He was the first man of 
the time in which he grew. His memory is 
first and most sacred in our love; and ever 
hereafter, till the last drop of blood shall 
freeze in the last American heart, his name 
shall be a spell of power and might. 

Yes, there is one personal, one vast felicity, 
which no man can share with him. It was 
the daily beauty and towering and matchless 
glory of his life, which enabled him to create 
his country, and, at the same time, secure an 
undying love and regard from the whole 
American people. " The first in the hearts 
of his countrymen ! " Yes, first ! He has 
our first and most fervent love. Undoubtedly 
there were brave and wise and good men 



PROGRAMMES FOR SPECIAL OCCASIONS. 



a5i) 



before his day, in every colony. But the 
American Nation, as a Nation, I do not 
reckon to have begun before 1774. And 
the first love of that young America was 
Washington. The first word she lisped 
was his name. Her earliest breath spoke 
it. It still is her proud ejaculation ; and 
it will be the last gasp of her expiring 
life! 

Yes, others of our great men have been 
appreciated— many admired by all. But him 
we love. Him we all love. About and 
around him we call up no dissentient and dis- 
cordant and dissatisfied elements — no sec- 
tional prejudice nor bias, — no party, no creed, 
no dogma of politics. None of these shall 
assail him. Yes, when the storm of battle 
blows darkest and rages highest, the memory 
of Washington shall nerve every American 
arm, and cheer every American heart. It 
shall relume that Promethean fire, that sub- 
lime flame of patriotism, that devoted love of 
country, which his words have commended, 
which his example has consecrated. Well 
did Lord Byron write : 

*' Where may the wearied eye repose; 

When gazing on the great, 
Where neither guilty glory glows, 

Nor despicable state ? — 
Yes — one — the first, the last, the best, 
The Cincinnatus of the West, 

Whom Envy dared not hate. 
Bequeathed the name of Washington, 
To make man blush, there was but one." 

RECITATION . . February Twenty =second. 

IN seventeen hundred thirty-two, 
This very month and day, 
Winking and blinking at the light, 
A little baby lay. 

Nc doubt they thought the little man 

A goodly child enough ; 
But time has proved that he was made 

Of most imcommon stuff. 



The little babe became a man 

That everybody knew 
Would finish well what he began^ 

And prove both firm and true. 

So when the Revolution came. 

That made our nation free. 
They couldn' t find a better man 

For general, you see. 

As general, he never failed 
Or faltered ; so they though' 

He ought to be the President, 
And so I'm sure he ought. 

And then he did his part so well 

As President — ;was plain 
They couldn't do a better thing 

Than choose him yet again. 

Through all his life they loved him welj 
And mourned him w^ien he died ; 

And ever since his noble name 
Has been our nation's pride. 

The lesson of his life is clear, 

And easy quite to guess, 
Be firm and true, if you would make 

Your life a grand success. 

Joy Allison, 

SONG A True Soldier. 

Tune: " Hold the Fort. 

f HOUGH we never may be soldiers 
On the battle field, 
Though we may not carry banner^ 
Bayonet or shield ; 
Each can be as true and valiant 

Till life's work is done. 
Each can be as brave a soldier 
As George Washington. 

There are mighty hosts of evil, 

Armies great and strong. 
Each can be a little soldier 

Fighting all day long. 
Let us ever fight them bravely, 

Let us valiant be ; 



360 



PROGRAMMES FOR SPECIAL OCCASIONS. 



Fight the host of falsehood, envy, 

Pride and cruelty. 
Oh, how valiant are the soldiers 

Who to battle go, 
Yet more brave a,re they who struggle 

'With an iin'^eei"! foe. 
When the battles all are ended 

And the victory's won, 
Each will be as true a soldier 

As George Washington. 

Alice Jean Cleator. 

RECITAL . . . . e . . Washington's Life. 

(Recitation for five boys ; each holds in his right 
hand a card with date, lifting it during his recitation.) 

1732. 

N seventeen hundred and thirty-two 
George Washington was born ; 
Truth, goodness, skill, and glory high. 
His whole life did adorn. 



I 



1775. 
In seventeen hundred and seventy-five 

The chief command he took 
Of all the army in the State 

Who ne'er his flag forsook. 

1783- 
In seventeen hundred and eighty-three, 

Retired to private life ; 
He saw his much-loved country free 

From battle and from strife. 

1789. 
In seventeen hundred and eighty-nine, 

The country with one voice, 
ftoclaimed him president, to shine, 

Blessed by the people's choice. 

1799. 
In seventeen hundred and ninety-nine. 

The nation's tears were shed, 
To see the patriot life resign. 

And sleep among the dead. 

ALL IN CONCERT. 

As ** first in war, first in peace," 

As patriot, father, friend — 
He will be blessed till time shall cease, 

And earthly life shall end. 




SINGING .... Birthday of Washington. 

(May be sung to "America.") 
First Pupil : 

/^ELCOME, thou festal morn ,• 
iNever be passed in scorn 
Thy rising sun. 
Thou day forever bright 
With Freedom's holy light, 
That gave the world the sight 
Of Washington. 

Second Pupil : 

Unshaken 'mid the storm, 
Behold that noble form — 

That peerless one. 
With his protecting hand, 
Like Freedom's angel, stand, 
The guardian of our land, 

Our Washington. 

Third Pupil: 

Traced there in lines of light, 
Where all pure rays unite. 

Obscured by none; 
Brightest on history's page. 
Of any clime or age. 
As chieftain, man or sage, 

Stands Washington. 

Fourth Pupil : 

Name at which tyrants pale. 
And their proud legions quail. 

Their boasting done ; 
While Freedom lifts her head, 
No longer filled with dread. 
Her sons to victory led 

By Washington, 

Class in Concert: 

Now the true patriot see. 
The foremost of the free. 

The victory won. 
In Freedom's presence bow. 
While sweetly smiling now 
She wreathes the spotless broKU 

Of Washington. 



PROGRAMMES FOR SPECIAL OCCASIONS. 



Then, with each coming year, 
Whenever shall appear 
That natal sun, 
Will we attest the worth 
Of one true man to earth 



And celebrate the birth 
Of Washington. 

George Rowland. 
MARCH. Boys and Girls Carrying Flags. 



W 



PROGRAMME FOR ARBOR DAY. 

The celebration of Arbor Day has become so common that there is a demand for a programme of 
public exercises for schools and academies. The following can be varied by omitting pieces or substi- 
tuting others. Little flags on palm-leaf fans tacked on well, also tufts of pine, and wreaths of flowers, 
bouquets, etc., might aid in decoration. Let the pupils take an active part in preparation. 

SONG. Tune : «* What a Friend We Have 

In Jesus." 
E have come with joyful greeting, 

Songs of gladness, voices gay. 
Teachers, friends, and happy children, 
All to welcome Arbor Day. 
Here we plant the trees whose branches, 

Warmed by breath of summer days, 
Nourished by the dews and showers. 

Soon shall wave in leafy sprays. 
Let us plant throughout our borders, 

O'er our lands so far and wide. 
Treasures from the leafy forest, 

Vale, and hill, and mountain side ; 
Rooted deep, oh let them flourish. 

Sturdy giants may they be ! 
Emblems of the cause we cherish- — 

Education broad and free. 
Gentle winds will murmur softly, 

Zephyrs float on noiseless wing ; 
'Mid their bows shall thrush and robin. 

Build their nests and sweetly sing. 
'Neath their shady arms will childhood 

Weary of the noontide heat, 
In its cool inviting shadow. 

Find a pleasant, safe retreat. 

READING. 

Proclamation of State Governor or of School Com- 
missioner. 

DECLAMATION. 

/^RBOR DAY is an anniversary that 

Pj looks forward with bright hope. 

J The trees which we plant to-day, 

will grow into groves and forests of the fu- 



ture, and in their silent beauty and voiceless 
green will honor the hands that so tenderly 
planted them. Beneath them the youth yet 
to be may meet in social banquet, and enjoy 
the fruitage of our labors. 

*' We are what wind and sun and water make us. 
The mountains are our sponsors, and the rills 
Fashion and win their nurslings with their smiles. ' ' 

This is not a holiday ; but a day especially 
set apart for the purpose of tree-planting, of 
observing more closely and studying more 
carefully the trees, flowers and gifts of the 
forest ; also of cultivating a greater reverence 
and finer sense of the beautiful and sublime. 

What object can better inspire us to gain 
victory over trials than the grand old oak 
which in bold defiance to its foes while reel- 
ing in the wrath of the tempest is sending 
down to deeper hold its gnarled roots only 
to be better able to triumph in the next 
storm ? Our poets have used their purest 
thought, their sweetest music in praise of 
the forest and the flowers. Arbor Day pro- 
vides gracious means of a closer acquaintance 
with *' God's first temples," and we hope that 
this day's effort may result in much good. 

QUOTATIONS. 

( Pupils stand by desks and after naming authors 
recite the quotations. ) 

1st Pupil. — Whittier said : 

*' Give fools their gold, and knaves their power; 
Let fortune's bubbles rise and fall ; 



362 



PROGRAMMES FOR SPECIAL OCCASIONS. 



Who so\ys a field or trains a flower. 
Or plants a tree, is more than all." 

2nd Pupil. — Ben Johnson wrote: 

"Not merely growing like a tree 
In bulk doth make man better be, 
Or standing long an oak three hundred years, 
To fall a log at last, dry, bald and sear. 
A lily of a day is fairer far in May ; 
Although it fall and die that night, 
It was the plant and flower of light. 
In small proportions we just beauties see, 
And in short measure life may perfect be." 

^rd Pupil. — Holmes said : 
"In fact there's nothing that keeps its youth, 
So far as I know, but a tree and truth. ' ' 

4th Pupil. — Morris wrote : 
**To me the world's an open book 
Of sweet and pleasant poetry ; 
I read it in the running book 

That sings its way toward the sea. 
It whispers in the leaves of trees. 

The swelling grain, the waving grass. 
And in the cool, fresh evening breeze, 
That crisps the wavelets as they pass. 

"The flowers below, the stars above, 

In all their bloom and brightness given. 
Are, like the attributes of love. 

The poetry of earth and heaven ; 
Thus, nature's volume, read aright. 

Attunes the soul to minstrelsy, 
Tingeing life's cloud with rosy light 

And all the world with poetry." 

f//^ Pupil. — Longfellow said: 
'^ ^f thou art worn and heart beset 
With sorrows that thou wouldst forget. 
If thou wouldst read a lesson that will keep 
Thy heart from fainting and thy soul from 

sleep, 
Go to the woods and hills ! No tears 
Dim the sweet look that Nature wears.** 

6th Pupil. — Bryan Waller Froctor wrote: 
"Methinks I love all common things, 
The common air, the common flower. 
The dear, kind, common thought that springs 



From hearts that have no other dowOT, 
No other wealth, no other power, 

Save love ; and will not that repay 

For all else fortune tears away ? 

What good are fancies rare, that rack 
With painful thought the poet's brain ? 

Alas! they cannot bear us back 
Unto happy years again ! 
But the white rose without a stain 

Bringeth times and thoughts of flowers, 

When youth was bounteous as the hours.** 

The School. 

'^He who plants a tree 
Plants a hope. 

Rootlets up through fibres blindly grope j 
Leaves unfold into horizons free, 
So man's life must climb 
From the clods of time 
Unto heavens sublime." 



RECITATION. . 



VilK W( 



. What do we Plant whei) 
we Plant a Tree ? 



ITAT do we plant when we plant the 
tree? 
We plant the ships that will cross the 
sea, 
We plant the mast to carry the sails. 
We plant the plank to withstand the gales, 
The keel, the keelson, the beam and knee. 
We plant the ship when we plant the tree. 

What do we plant when we plant the tree ? 
We plant the \ ^uses for you and me ; 
We plant the rar^irs, the shingles, the floors. 
We plant the stuoc'ing, the lath, the doors. 
The beams, the sida^g, all parts that be, 
We plant the house when we plant the tree. 

What do we plant when we plant the tree ? 
A thousand things that we daily see. 
We plant the spire that out-towers the crag. 
We plant the staff" for our country's flag; 
We plant the shade from the hot sun free. 
We plant all these when we plant the tree. 

Henry Abbey. 



PROGRAMMES FOR SPECIAL OCCASIONS. 



363 



EXERCISE, . . Wedding of the Palm and 

Pine. 

(Characters.- Uncle Sam, Miss Palm, Mr. Pine, 
and maids for Miss Palm, and servant for Mr. Pine. 
The maids carry tropical fruits, and one holds either 
a palm leaf or a peacock fan over Miss Palm, who 
wears a flowing dress made of some light cheesecloth 
or goods without starch ; also over her head an ice- 
wool shawl. Her face powdered white, cheeks rosy, 
and she should be a girl having black hair and eyes. 
Approaches the stage very modestly, aiid is always 
very reserved. Her dress should wear flowers and 
blossoms. Mr. Pine should be stately, tall and re- 
served, and should wear tuft of pine for button-hole 
bouquet. His hair might be whitened with magnesia. 
Plis attendant should carry his fur coat and leggings, 
etc. Uncle Sam should be dressed in customary at- 
tire. Uncle Sam first enters stage, carrying a good- 
sized flag. Palm carries a palm-leaf fan on which xS 
fastened on one side a small flag, and on the other 
side a wreath of leaves — myrtle or the like ) 

Uncle Sam : 

u /-^c&^HE'S up there, Old Glory, where light 
wings are sped. 
She dazzles the nations with ripples 
of red ; 

And she'll wave for us living, or droop o'er us dead— 
The flag of our country forever ! 

She's up there. Old Glory, how bright the stars 

stream ! 
And the stripes like red signals, of liberty gleam ! 
And we dare for her living or dream the last 

dream, 

'Neath the flag of our country forever ! 

She's up there, Old Glory, no tyrant-dealt scars- 
No blur on her brightness, no stain on her stars ! 
The brave blood of heroes hath crimsoned her 
bars — 

She's the flag of our country forever!" 

There comes from the south {Miss Palm eitfers) 

where the balmy breeze blows. 
There comes from the north (J/r. Pi?ie enters^ 

where the hardy pine grows. 
Warm hearts and true hearts, loyal and free. 
The Palm and the Pine now wedded to be. 
Come stand 'neath the flag, modest Palm, mighty 

Pine, 




{JBoth step to front before Uncle Sam and bow to 
each other, and then gracefully salute the flag ^ 

The emblem so dear to brave fathers of thine, 
And under its bars, and its stars and its blue, 
Unite now and ever to dare and to do i^joi?t hands') 
What your hearts and your hands can our nation 

to save, 
And to keep the old flag o'er the free and the 

brave. 

{Uncle Sam, placing his right hand upon the 
joined hands of Palm and Pine, continues,) 

No north, no south, no east, no west, 

But one, united, free ! 
The Palm and Pine, in Union blest, 

Now stand for liberty. 
From lakes to gulf, from sea to sea. 

May union stronger grow \ 
Thus teach the world humanity, 

And might together go. 

{Retire J Pahn leaning on ar7n of Pine ^ 
PAPERo Origin of Arbor Day. 

At an annual meeting of the Nebraska 
State Board of Agriculture, held in the city 
of Lincoln, January 4, 1872, Hon. J. Sterling 
Morton introduced the following resolution 
which was unanimously adopted after a short 
debate as to the name ; some desired to call 
the day " Sylvan ^' instead of "Arbor :" 

Resolved, ^^That Wednesday, the loth 
day of April, 1872, be, and the same is 
hereby especially set apart and consecrated 
for tree planting in the State of Nebraska* 
and the State Board of Agriculture hereby 
name it Arbor Day, and urge upon the people 
of the State the vital importance of tree 
planting, and hereby offer a special premium 
of one hundred dollars to the agricultural 
society of that county in Nebraska which 
shall upon that day plant properly the largest 
number of trees; and a farm library of 
twenty-five dollars' worth of books to that 
person, who, on that day, shall plant properly 
in Nebraska the greatest number of trees," 



364 



PROGRAMMES FOR SPECIAL OCCASIONS. 



The result was that over a milHon trees 
were planted in Nebraska on that first Arbor 
Day. A few years later, April 22, the birth- 
day of Mr. Morton was set apart by the 
Governor as Arbor Day in that State, and 
now nearly all States observe Abor Day. 



RECITATION 



Value of Our Forests. 



(The pupils come on the stage, one at a time, and 
recite, showing the article about which they speak 
and give inotions.) 

1st Pupil (carrying a bunch of toothpicks). 
(gy^ TOOTHPICK is a little thing, yet it 
f^\ is reported that one factory uses 
^JLV^^ 10,000 cords of wood annually 
in the production of these splints 
of wood. 

2d Pupil (carrying a box of pegs). 

Shoe pegs are small affairs ; yet a single 
factory sends to Europe annually 40,000 
bushels of pegs, besides wha<" it sells in this 
country. 

■^d Pupil, 

A spool is of small account when the 
thread is wound off"; yet several factories use 
each from 1800 to 3500 cords of wood every 
year in making these articles. Thousands of 
acres of birch trees have been bought at one 
time by thread manufacturers, for the sole 
purpose of securing a supply of spools. 

^j.th Pupil. 

Who thinks much of the little friction 
match, as he uses it to light the lamp or fire, 
and then throws it away ? But one factory, it 
is said, makes 60,000,000 of these little arti- 
cles every day, and uses for this purpose 
12,000 square feet of best pine lumber. 

Sth Pupil, 

Forests affect the climate of the country ; 
influence the rain of a country ; build up a 
wall and protect the crops; they keep the 
air pure. The leaf-mold in forests holds 
back tiie rains. We draw ;^70o,ooo,ooo 




worth of products every year from the trees. 
No other crop equals this in value. 

All in Concert 

" The groves were God's first temples. 

Ere man learned 
To hew the shaft and lay the architrave 
And spread the roof above them ; ere he framed 
The lofty vault, to gather and roll back 
The sound of anthems ; in the darkling wood. 
Amidst the cool and silence, he knelt down 
And offered to the Mightiest solemn thank? 
And supplication." 

SONG . .Tune^ "Am^ica." 

P from the smiling earth 

Comes there a voice of mirth. 
Our hearts to cheer ; 
Listen where the willows lean. 
Lovingly o'er the stream, 
Listen, where the pine trees dream. 
Springtime is here. 

Let us sing merrily, 
Blithely and cheerily, 

With the new year ; 
Join in the chorus. 
Loudly swelling o'er us; 
Joy is before us. 

Springtime is here. 

Come, let us plant a tree 
Tenderly, lovingly. 

Some heart to cheer, 
Long may its branches sway. 
Over the dusty way 
With shade for sultry day, 

For years to be. 

Edna D. Proctor. 



CONCERT RECITATION 



The Trees, 



(By small pupils standing in aisles and in imitation 
of trees, gestures as indicated.) 



E are trees in tiny rows 

Growing straight and tall ; 
Roots we have so when it^ blows. 
None of us may fall. 




PROGRAMMES FOR SPECIAL OCCASIONS. 



3Gi 



Bending gently^ to and fro 
Then to^ left and right, 

Makes us stronger as we grow, 
* Upward to the light. 

Tiny branches spreading wide,^ 
Adding grace and form, 

Growing firmly from our side, 
® Hide us from the storm. 

On our branches, in the spring, 
'Leaves in green unfold; 

Till the frost with cruel sting, 
Turns them into gold. 

Then our brightly tinted leaves, 
From our branches fall ; 

* Flutter in the autumn breeze, 
To October's call. 

® Midst our branches squirrels rim, 
Searching for our fruit ; 

And the birds in summer's sun, 
^*^Flit in hot pursuit 

And at night when all is still, 
"We have gone to sleep, 

Comes the owl, a mouse to kill, 
And ^^hoots in a voice so deep. 



As little trees of hope we stand, 

And promises of good ; 
Oh, may we grow up ^'^tall and grand 

A deep and shady wood, 

Bear sweet and gladsome fruit of love^ 

And shelter weary souls; 
And ^*lift our crests the storm above. 

Where endless sunlight rolls. 

Gestures for ^' The Trees.'''* 

I. Half of the number imitate the swaying of trees 
by the blowing of wind, done by bending head and 
body to right and left. 2. Hands on hips, body 
bending forward and backward. 3. Body bending 
left and right. 4. Point upward with right hands. 
5. Slowly extend arms. 6. Crouch as in hiding. 7. 
Arms extended, open hands slowly. 8. Arms ex- 
tended, move fingers like fluttering leaves. 9. First 
imitate leaping squirrel with right hand ; then with 
left; then with both hands. 10. Move hands to and 
fro with fast moving fingers. 11. Arms extended 
direct above head, fingers closed and eyes shut. I2„ 
Half the number imitate the /z^f^/i- while others recite. 
13. Move arm full length obliquely from right side, 
and direct eyes upward in same direction. 14. Lift 
both hands slowly to full length above head in front 
of body, and look up. 

MUSIC To be Selected. 



PROGRAMME FOR 

TUNE. — *'Marching Through Georgia.'* 

\^ I HROUGH the golden summertime we've 
^ I all been sowing seeds ; 
-*- Oh they've sprung to blossoms or to tall 
and ugly weeds ; 
Children have we sown the seed of wrong or 

kindly deeds, 
All through the bright days of summer. 

Chorus. 

The seeds we planted along life's onward way, 
Are swiftly growing, growing every day ; 
What the harvest time shall be, it is for us to 
say- 
Let us be cheerful in sowing. 



A HARVEST HOME. 

RECITATION. ... A Sermon in Rhyme 

IF you have a friend worth loving, 
Love him. Yes, and let him know 
That you love him, ere life's evening 

Tinge his brow with sunset glow. 
Why should good words ne'er be said 
Of a friend till he is dead ? 

If you hear a song that thrills you^ 

Sung by any child of song. 
Praise it. Do not let the singer 

Wait deserved praises long. 
Why should one who thrills your heart 
Lack the joy you may impart ? 

If a silvery laugh goes rippling 
Through the sunshine on his race^ 



366 



PROGRAMMES FOR SPECIAL OCCASIONS. 



Share it. 'Tis the wise man's saying 

For both joy and grief a place. 
There's health and goodness in the mirth 
In which an honest laugh has birth. 

If your work is made more easy 

By a friendly helping hand, 
Say so. Speak out brave and truly 

Ere the darkness veil the land. 
Should a brother workman dear 
Falter for a word of cheer ? 

Scatter thus your seeds of kindness, 

All enriching as you go — 
Leave them. Trust the Harvest Giver, 

He will make each seed to grow. 
So, until its happy end 
Your life shall never lack a friend. 

FARMER JOHN. 

(For a man dressed in farmer's costume.) 
"OME from his journey Farmer John 
Arrived this morning safe and sound; 
His black off and his old clothes on; 
''Now I'm myself," says Farmer 
John; 
And he thinks, '' Til look round." 

Up leaps the dog : ' ' Get down, you pup ! 
Are you so glad you would eat me up? " 
The old cow lows at the gate to greet him, 
.^*ae horses prick up their ears to meet him : 
*'Well, well, old Bay! 
Ha, ha, old Gray ! 
Do you get good food when I'm away ? 

''You haven't a rib," says Farmer John ; 
*'The cattle are looking round and sleek; 
The colt is going to be a roan, 
And a beauty, too ; how he has grown I 
We'll wean the calf next week." 

" I've found this out," says Farmer John, 

" That happiness is not bought and sold, 
And clutched in a life of waste and hurry. 
In nights of pleasure and days of worry ; 

And wealth isn't all in gold, 
Mortgages, stocks, and ten per cent., 
But in simple ways and sweet content] 



Few wants, pure hope, and noble ends. 
Some land to till, and a few good friends 

Like you, old Bay, 

And you, old Gray : 
That's what I learned by going away." 

J. T. Trowbridge. 

RECITAL The 



Mrsf : 



Husbandman, 

(For boys and girls.) 




ARTH, of man the bounteous mother. 
Feeds him still with golden grain ; 

He who best would aid a brother 
Shares with him his loaded wain. 
Second: 

Many a power within her bosom. 

Noiseless hidden, works beneath ; 
Hence are seed and leaf and blossom, 

Golden ear, and clustered wreath. 
TAi'rd : 

These to swell with strength and beauty 

Is the royal task of man ; 
Man's a king ; his throne is duty, 

Since his work on earth began. 

Fourth : 

Bud and harvest, bloom and vintage — 

These, like men, are fruits of earth ; 
Stamped in clay, a heavenly mintage. 

All from dust receive their birth. 
Fifth : 

What the dream but vain rebelling, 

If from earth we sought to flee ? 
'Tis our stored and ample dwelling; 

'Tis from it the skies w^esee. 
Sixth : 

Wind and frost, and hour and season, 

Land and water, sun and shade — - 
Work with these, as bids thy reason, 

For they work thy toil to aid. 

All i7i co7icert : 

Sow thy seed and reap in gladness ! 

Man himself is all a seed ; 
Hope and hardship, joy and sadness — 
Slow the plant to ripeness lead. 

John Sterling.; 



PROGRAMMES FOR SPECIAL OCCASIONS. 



361 



ORATION The Nobility of Labor. 

I CALL upon those whom I address to 
stand up for the nobility of labor. It 
is Heaven's great ordinance for human 
improvement. Let not that great ordinance 
be broken down. What do I say? It is 
broken down ; and it has been broken down 
for ages. Let it, then, be built up again; 
here, if anywhere, on these shores of a new 
world — of a new civilization. But how, I 
may be asked, is it broken down ? Do not 
men toil ? it may be said. They do, indeed^ 
toil ; but they, too, generally do it because 
they must. Many submit to it as, in some 
sort, a degrading necessity; and they desire 
nothing so much on earth as escape from it. 
They fulfill the great law of labor in the 
letter, but break it in the spirit ; fulfill it with 
the muscle, but break it with the mind. 

To some field of labor, mental or manual, 
every idler should fasten, as a chosen and 
coveted theatre of improvement. But so is 
he not impelled to do, under the teachings 
of our imperfect civilization. On the con- 
trary, he sits down, folds his hands, and 
blesses himself in his idleness. This way of 
thinking is the heritage of the absurd and 
unjust feudal system, under which serfs la- 
bored, and gentlemen spent their lives in 
fighting and feasting. It is time that this 
opprobrium of toil were done away with. 

Ashamed to toil, art thou ? Ashamed of 
thy dingy workshop and dusty labor-field; 
of thy hard hands, scarred with service 
more honorable than that of war; of thy 
soiled and weather-stained garments, on 
which Mother Nature has embroidered, 
'midst sun and rain, 'midst fire and steam, 
her own heraldic honors ? Ashamed of these 
tokens and titles, and envious of the flaunt- 
ing robes of imbecile idleness and vanity? 
It is treason to nature — it is impiety to 
Heaven — it is breaking Heaven^s great ordi- 
^lance. Toil, I repeat — toil, either of the 




brain, or of the heart, or of the hand, is the 
only true manhood, the only true nobility I 

Orville Dewey. 

RECITATION The Com Song. 

(For a lad who holds a tall stalk of corn in left 
hand.) 

EAP high the farmer's wintry hoard ; 
Heap high the golden corn ! 

No richer gift has autumn poured 
From her most lavish horn ! 

Let other lands, exulting, glean 

The apple from the pine, 
The orange from its glossy green. 

The cluster from the vine ; 

We better love the hardy gift 

Our rugged vales bestow, 
To cheer us when the storm shall drift 

Our harvest-fields with snow. 

Where'er the wide old kitchen hearth 

Sends up its smoky curls. 
Who will not thank the kindly earth, 

And bless our farmer girls ? 

Then shame on all the proud and vain, 

Whose folly laughs to scorn 
The blessing of our hardy grain, 

Our wealth of golden corn ! 

Let earth withhold her goodly root, 

Let mildew blight the rye. 
Give to the worm the orchard's fruit. 

The wheat-field to the fly. 

But let the good old crop adorn 

The hills our fathers trod ; 
Still let us, for his golden corn. 

Send up our thanks to God ! 

J. G. Whittier. 

SINGING Tune: ♦'Rockingham." 

r:AT GOD ! our heart-felt thanks to 
Thee! 
Ne feel Thy presence everywhere ; 
And pray that we may ever be 
The objects of Thy guardian care. 



368 



PROGRAMMES FOR SPECIAL OCCASIONS. 



We sowed ! — by Thee our work was seen, 
And blessed ; and instantly went forth 

Thy mandate ; and in living green 

Soon smiled the fair and fruitful earth. 

We toiled !— and Thou didst note our toil ; 
And gav'st the sunshine and the rain, 



Till ripened on the teeming soil 

The fragrant grass, and golden grain. 

And now, we reap ! — and oh, our God ! 

From this, the earth's unbounded floor, 
We send our song of thanks abroad, 

And pray Thee, bless our hoarded store I 
W. D. Gallagher 



^@^</^^ 



PROaRAMME FOR LYCEUM OR PARLOR ENTERTAINMENT 

MUSIC , Piano Solo 

SONG Selected by Quartette 

SALUTATORY ADDRESS. 



(The following speech should be delivered by a 
droll boy who can keep his face straight while others 
do the laughing. He should act out the spirit of the 
nth appropriate gestures.) 



piece wi 

I AM requested to open our performances 



by a salutatory address. It needs but 
one honest Saxon word for that — one 
homely pertinent word ; but before I utter a 
pertinent word, allow me, like other great 
speakers, to indulge in a few /^pertinent 
words. 

And first, let me ask if there is a critic 
among us; for this is a sort of family gather- 
ing. We allow no critics ! No reporters 1 No 
interviewers ! (Do I see a boy taking notes? 
Put him out. No ! It's a false alarm, I be- 
lieve.) 

Pardon me if, with the help of my mother's 
e^^e-glass {/if/s eye-glasses), I look round on 
your phys — phys— physiognomies. (That's 
the word, I'm very certain, for I practiced on 
it a good half hour.) Without flattery I say 
it, I like your countenances 
ception. 

A critic ! If there is anything 
is a critic. One who cannot bear a little 
nonsense, and who shakes his head at a little 
salutary (not salutatory) fun. Salutary fun ? 
Did anybody hiss? Point him out. {Speaker 
folds his arms, advances, fixes his eyes on some 



-with one ex- 



I detest it 



one in the audience, and shakes his fist at him.) 
Yes, sir, I said salutary fun. Salutary ! You 
needn't put on such a grave look. Salutary ! 
You needn't sneer at that ep — ep — epithet. 
(Yes, Tm quite positive that's the word J 
was drilled on. Epi — thetf That's it.) 

But I was speaking of critics. If there ^r 
any one of that tribe in this assembly- — am; 
dear friend of Caesar— I mean any stupid 
friend of Pompey, no, of pomposity — to him 
I say— no, to you I say— Go mark him well ; 
for him no minstrel raptures swell ; despite 
his titles, power and pelf, the wretch (rather 
rough on him, that !) — the wretch, concentred 
all in self, living shall forfeit fair renown, and, 
doubly dying, shall go down to the vile dust 
from whence he sprung, unwept, unhonored, 
and unsung. 

There ! If any member of Congress could 
do it better, bring him on. Excuse me if I 
sop my brow. ( Wiping it with handkerchief^ 

But enough ! Let us now put by the cap 
and bells. Enough of nonsense ! As a great 
philosopher, who had been fi'olicking, once 
said : " Hush ! Let us be grave ! Here 
comes a fool." Nothing personal, s'-r, in 
that ! Let us be grave. 

And so friends, relatives, ladies, and gen- 
tlemen, I shall conclude by uttering from an 
overflowing heart that one word to which I 
alluded at the beginning — that one pertinent 
Saxon word ; that is — {fi,onrishes his hand as 
if about to utter it; then siiddenly puts his hand 
to his forehead as if trying to remember.) 



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369 




Forgotten ? Confusion ! Not a big word 
either ! Not half as big as some I have 
spoken ! What — where — when — whence — 
what has become of it? Must I break down, 
after all ? Must I retire in disgrace from 
public life ? Never ! I have it. Here it is ! 
Here it is in big capitals : WELCOME ! 

RECITATION Mrs. Piper. 

(Suited for a young lady. She should appear very 
innocent at the beginning, and speak in a droll, un- 
suspecting voice and manner. Toward the end she 
should exhibit an uncontrollable dehght, at the same 
time manifest a disposition to conceal it.) 

^ -RS. PIPER was a widow— 
Oh, dear me ! 

This world is not at all," she said, 
*' the place it used to be ! 
Now my good husband, he was such a good man 

to provide — 
I never had the leastest care of anything outside ! 
But now, 

Why, there's the cow, 
A constant care, and Brindle's calf I used to feed 

when small, 
And those two Ayrshire heifers that we purchased 

in the fall— 
Oh, dear, 
My husband sleeping in the grave, it's gloomy 

being here ! 
The oxen Mr. Piper broke, and four steers two 

years old, 
The blind mare and the little colt, they all wait 

to be sold ! 
For how am I to keep 'em now? and yet how 

shall I sell ? 
And what's the price they ought to bring, how 

can a woman tell? 
Now, Jacob Smith, he called last night, and 

stayed till nine o'clock, 
And talked and talked, and talked and talked, 

and tried to buy my stock ; 
He said he'd pay a higher price than any man 

in town ; 
He'd give his note, or, if I chose, he'd pay the 

money down. 
(24— x) 



But, there ! 

To let him take those creeturs off, I really do not 
dare ! 

For 'tis a lying world, and men are slippery 
things at best ; 

My poor, dear husband in the ground, he wasn't 
like the rest ! 

But Jacob Smith's a different case ; if I would 
let him, now, 

Perhaps he'd wrong me on the horse, or cheat 
me on a cow ; 

And so 

I do not dare to trust him, and I mean to an- 
swer 'No.'" 

Mrs. Piper was a widow — 

" Oh, dear me ! 

A single woman with a farm must fight her way," 

said she. 
'' Of everything about the land my husband al- 
ways knew ; 
I never felt, when he was here, I'd anything to do; 
But now, what fields to plow, 
And how much hay I ought to cut, and just what 

crops to sow. 
And what to tell the hired men, how can a wo- 
man know ? 
Oh, dearl 
With no strong arm to lean upon, it's lonesome 

being here ! 
Now Jacob Smith, the other night, he called on 

me again, 
And talked and talked, and talked and talked, 

and stayed till after ten ; 
He said he'd like to take my farm, to buy it or 

to lease — 
I do declare, I wish that man would give me any 

peace ! 
For there ! 
To trust him with my real estate I truly did not 

dare; 
For, if he buys it, on the price he'll cheat me 

underhand ; 
And, if he leases it, I know he will run out the 

land; 
And, if he takes it at the halves, both halves he'lJ 

strike for then ; 



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It's risky work when women folk have dealings 

with the men ! 
And so, 
I do not dare to trust him, and I mean to answer 

*No.'" 

Mrs. Piper was a widow — 

** Oh, dear me ! 

Yet I have still some mercies left ; I won't com- 
plain," said she. 

'^ My poor, dear husband knows, I trust, a better 
world than this ; 

'Twere sinful selfishness in me to grudge him 
Heaven's bliss I 

So now, 

I ought to bow 

Submissively to what is sent — not murmur and 
repine ; 

The hand that sends our trials has, in all, some 
good design. 

Oh, dear ! 

If we knew all, we might not want our buried 
lost ones here ! 

And Jacob Smith, he called last night, but it was 
not to see 

About the cattle or the farm, but this time it was 
me ! 

He said he prized me very high, and wished I'd 
be his wife. 

And if I did not he should lead a most unhappy life. 

He did not have a selfish thought, but gladly, 
for my sake. 

The care of all my stock and farm he would con- 
sent to take — 

And, there ! 

To slight so plain a Providence I really do not 
dare ! 

He'll take the cattle off my mind, he'll carry on 

the farm — 
I haven't since my husband died had such a 

sense of calm I 
I think the man was sent to me — a poor, lone 

woman must, 
In such a world as this, I feel, have some one she 

can trust ; 
And so, 
I do not feel \i would be right for me to answer 

< No.* " Marian Douglas. 



MUSIC To be Selected. 

COLLOQUY True Bravery* 

(Suited to a boy and girl of twelve years.) 
Ralph, 

( 2/ OOD morning, Cousin Laura! I 
\ •) I have a word to say to you. 

Laura. Only a word ! It is yet 
half an hour to school-time, and I can listen. 

R. I saw you yesterday speaking to that 
fellow Sterling — Frank Sterling. 

L. Of course I spoke to Frank. What 
then ? Is he too good to be spoken to ? 

R, Far from it. You must give up his 
acquaintance. 

L. Indeed, Cousin Ralph! I must give 
up his acquaintance ? On what compulsion 
must I ? 

R. If you do not wish to be cut by all the 
boys of the academy, you must cut Frank. 

L. Cut ! What do you mean by cut ? 

R. By cutting, I mean not recognizing an 
individual. When a boy who knows you 
passes you without speaking or bowing, he 
cuts you. 

L. I thank you for the explanation. And 
I am to understand that I must either give 
up the acquaintance of my friend Frank, or 
submit to the terrible mortification of being 
"cut" by Mr. Ralph Burton and his com- 
panions ! 

R. Certainly. Frank is a boy of no spirit 
— in short, a coward. 

L. How has he shown it ? 

R. Why, a dozen boys have dared him to 
fight, and he refuses to do it. 

L. And is your test of courage a willing- 
ness to fight ? If so, a bull-dog is the most 
courageous of gentlemen. 

R. I am serious, Laura ; you must give 
him up. Why, the other day Tom Harding 
put a chip on a fellow's hat, and dared Frank 
Sterling to knock it off. But Sterling folded 



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371 



his arms and walked off, while we all groaned 
and hissed. 

L. You did ? You groaned and hissed ? 
Oh, Ralph, I did not believe you had so little 
of the true gentleman about you ! 

R. What do you mean ? Come, now, I do 
not like that. 

L. Were you at the great fire last night ? 

R. Yes ; Tom Harding and I helped work 
one of the engines. 

L, Did you see that boy go up the ladder? 

R, Yes ; wouldn't I like to be in his shoes! 
They say the Humane Society are going to 
give him a medal ; for he saved a baby^s life 
and no mistake — at the risk of his own, too ; 
everybody said so; for the ladder he went 
up was all charred and weakened, and it 
broke short off before he got to the rround. 

L. What boy was it ! 

R. Nobody could find out, but I suppose 
the morning paper will tell us all about it., 

L. I have a copy. Here's the account; 
" Great fire ; house tenanted by poor families ; 
baby left in one of the upper rooms ; ladder 
much charred ; firemen too heavy to go up ; 
boy came forward, ran up ; seized an infant ; 
descended safely ; gave it into arms of frantic 
mother.^' 

R. Is the boy's name mentioned ? 

L, Ay! Here it is! Here it is! And 
who do you think he is ? 

R, Do not keep me in suspense. 

L, Well, then, he's the boy who was so 
afraid of knocking a chip off your hat — 
Frank Sterling — the coward, as you called 
him. 

R. No ! Let me see the paper for myself. 
There's the name, sure enough, printed in 
capital letters. 

L. But, cousin, how much more illustrious 
an achievement it would have been for him 
to have knocked a chip off your hat ! Risk- 
ing his life to save a chip of a baby was a 
small matter compared with that. Can thp 



gratitude of a mother for saving her baby 
make amends for the ignominy of being cut 
by Mr. Tom Harding and Mr. Ralph Burton? 

R. Don't laugh at me any more. Cousin 
Laura. I see I have been stupidly in the 
wrong. Frank Sterling is no coward. I'll 
ask his pardon this very day. 

L. Will you ? My dear Ralph, you will 
in that case show that you are not without 
courage. 

RECITATION Reverie in Church. 

GO early of course I How provoking ! 
I told ma just how it would be. 
I might as well have on a wrapper. 
For there's not a soul here yet to see. 
There ! Sue Delaplaine's pew is empty — 

I declare if it isn't too bad ! 
I knew my suit cost more than her's did, 
And I wanted to see her look mad. 

I do think that sexton's too stupid — 

He's put some one else in our pew — 
And the girl's dress just kills mine completely; 

Now what am I going to do ? 
The psalter, and Sue isn't here yet ! 

I don't care, I think it's a sin 
For people to get late to service, 

Just to make a great show coming in. 

Oh, you've got here at last, my dear, have you? 

Well, I don't think you need be so proud 
Of that bonnet if Virot did make it. 

It's horrid fast-looking and loud. 
What a dress ! — for a girl in her senses 

To go on the street in light blue ! 
And those coat-sleeves — they wore them last 
summer — 

Don't doubt, though, that she thinks they're new. 

Mrs. Gray's polonaise was imported — 

So dreadful ! — a minister's wife. 
And thinking so much about fashion ! — 

A pretty example of life I 
The altar's dressed sweetly — I wonder 

Who sent those white flowers for the font !— • 
Some girl who's gone on the assistant — - 

Don't doubt it was Bessie Lament. 



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Just look at her now, little humbug ! — 

So devout — I suppose she don't know- 
That she's bending her head too far over 

And the end of her switches all show. 
What a sight Mrs. Ward is this morning ! 

That woman will kill me some day, 
With her horrible lilacs and crimsons. 

Why will these old things dress so gay? 

And there's Jenny Wells with Fred Tracy — 

She's engaged to him now — horrid thing ! 
Dear me ! I'd keep on my glory sometimes, 

If I did have a solitaire ring ! 
How can this girl next to me act so — 

The way that she turns round and stares. 
And then makes remarks about people : — 

She'd better be saying her prayers. 

Oh, dear, what a dreadful long sermon ! 

He must love to hear himself talk I 
And it's after twelve now — how provoking ! 

I wanted to have a nice walk. 
Through at last. Well, it isn't so dreadful 

After all, for we won't dine till one : 
How can people say church is poky ! — 

So wicked ! — I think it's real fun. 

George A. Baker. 

ORATION— The Spanish-American War. 

IT is gratifying to all of us to know that 
this has never ceased to be a war of 
humanity. The last ship that went out 
of the harbor of Havana before war was de- 
clared was an American ship that had taken 
to the suffering people of Cuba the supplies 
furnished by American charity, and the first 
ship to sail into the harbor of Santiago was 
an American ship bearing food supplies to 
the suffering Cubans, and I am sure it is the 
universal prayer of American citizens that jus- 
tice and humanity and civilization shall char- 
acterize the final settlement of peace, as they 
have distinguished the progress of the war. 

My countrymen, the currents of destiny flow 
through the hearts of our people. Who will 
check them, who will divert them, who will stop 
them ? And the movements of men, planned 



and designed by the Master of Men, will never 
be interrupted by the American people. 

I witness with pride and satisfaction the 
cheers of the multitudes as the veterans of the 
civil war on both sides of the contest are re- 
viewed. I witness with increasing pride the 
wild acclaim of the people as you watch the 
volunteers and the regulars and our naval 
reserves (the guardians of the people on land 
and sea) pass before your eyes, for I read in 
the faces and hearts of my countrymen the 
purpose to see to it that this government, 
with its free institutions, shall never perish 
from the face of the earth. 

My heart is filled with gratitude to the 
God of battles, who has so favored us, and tc 
the soldiers and sailors who have won such 
victories on land and sea and have given 
such a new meaning to American valor. No 
braver soldiers or sailors ever assembled 
under any flag. 

Gentlemen, the American people are 
ready. If the Merrimac is to be sunk in 
the mouth of the Santiago harbor to prevent 
the escape of the Spanish fleet, a brave young 
hero is ready to do it and to succeed in what 
his foes have never been able to do — sink 
an American ship. All honor to the army 
and navy, without whose sacrifices we could 
not celebrate the victory. The flag of our 
country is safe in the hands of our patriots 
and heroes. President McKinley. 

MUSIC. . To be Selected. 

RECITATION— A Cook of the Period. 

(For a young lady who can give the Irish brogue.) 

HE looks of yer, ma'am, rather suits me — ^ 

The wages ye offer 'ill do ; 
But thin I can't inter yer sarvice 
Without a condition or two. 
And now, to begin, is the kitchen, 

Commodgeous, with plenty of light, 
And fit, ye know, fur entertainin' 
Sech fri'nds as I'm like to invite? 




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373 



And nixt, are yous regular at male-times ? 

Because 'taint convainyent, ye see, 
To wait, and if I behaves punkshul, 

It's no more than yous ought to be. 
And thin is your gurrels good-natured ? 

The rayson I lift my last place, 
The French nuss was sich a high lady, 

I sint a dish-cloth at her face. 

And have yer the laste objection 

To min droppin' in when they choose ? 
I've got some enlivinin' fust cousins 

That frayquently brings me the news. 
I must have thim trayted powlitely ; 

I give yer fair warnin' ma'am, noWj, 
If the airy gate be closed agin thim. 

You'll find me commincin' a row. 

These matters agrayed on between us, 

I'd try yer a wake, so I would. 
(She looks like the kind I can manage, 

A thin thing without any blood !) 
But mind, if I comes for a wake, ma'am, 

I comes for that time, and no liss ; 
And so, thin, purvidin* ye'd want me. 

Just give me your name and addriss. 

SONG . Bee-hive Town. 

TUNE— " Marching Through Qeorgia.*' 

AVE you ever been to see the busy Bee- 
Hive Town, 

With its funny little wooden houses 
square and brown ? 




Hear the bees from clover-fields come flying 
swiftly down 

All enter one little doorway. 

CHORUS. 

Hurrah, hurrah, for busy Bee-Hive Town, 
With funny little houses square and brown ; 
Here the bees from clover fields come flying 
swiftly down 

Bringing the sweet golden honey. 

Oh, there are so many rooms with thin and waxen 

wall. 
Packed so close together that you could not count 

them all. 
Here the small bee babies sleep until they learn 
to crawl, 

And fly to find the golden honey. 

Mother bee is called the queen, her children love 

her well, 
And she lives within a warm and cosy little cell ; 
While her children search in garden, meadow- 
land and dell, 

Helpful and happy in working. 

All the merry sister bees do many a helpful 

thing — 
Tend their little sisters and the golden honey 

bring : 
But the lazy brother bees do naught but hum and 
sing. 

All through the long golden summer. 



PROGRAMME FOR THANKSGIVING. 

(The room should be decorated with fruits and grains of the season, among them a large pumpkin, whicK 

will be appropriate to one of the recitations.) 



SONG Tune: "My Country." 

■QNOR the Mayflower's band. 
Who left their native land 
And home so bright ; 
Honor the bravery 
That crossed the winter sea, 
For worship, fearless, free, 
In cause of right. 




Oh, they had much to fear. 
Sickness and death was near 

To many a one ; 
Foes did them cruel wrong. 
Winter was dark and long, 
Ere came the Springtime's song 

And burst of sun. 

Honor those valiant sons. 



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Honor those fearless ones, 

The Mayflower's band. 
Honor the bravery 
That scorned all tyranny, 
And crossed the stormy sea 

To this fair land ! 

RELIGIOUS EXERCISES .... Selected. 
RECITATION . . What I'm Thankful For. 

I'M thankful that I'm six years old, 
And that I've left off dresses; 
And that I've had my curls cut off, — 
Some people call them tresses. 
Such things were never meant for boys; — 

Horrid dangling, tangling curls — 
They go quite well with dress and sash ; 
They are just the thing for girls. 

I'm thankful I have pockets four^ 

Tho' they're almost too small. 
To hold the things I want to keep ;— 

Some strings, knife, top and ball. 
I'm thankful that we're going to have. 

All my folks and I, 
Just a jolly dinner to-day, 

With turkey and mince pie. 

O, one thing more, my mamma says, 

And what she says is true ; 
'Tis God who gives us everything. 

And keeps and loves us too. 
And so I thank Him very much 

For all that I enjoy ; 
And promise that next New Year's day 

Will find a better boy. 

RECITATION The Pumpkin. 

H ! on Thanksgiving Day, when from East 
and from West, 
From North and from South come 
the pilgrim and guest. 
When the grey-haired New Englander sees round 

his board 
The old broken links of affection restored. 
When the care-wearied man seeks his mother 

once more. 
And the worn matron smiles where the girl smiled 
before. 




What moistens the lip, and what brightens the 

eye? 
What calls back the past, like the rich pumpkin 

pie? 

O, fruit loved of boyhood ! the old days recalling ; 
When wood-grapes were purpling and brown nut? 

were falling ! 
When wild, ugly faces were carved in its skin. 
Glaring out through the dark with a candle 

within ! 
When we laughed round the corn heap, with 

hearts all in tune, 
Our chair a broad pumpkin, our lantern the moon. 
Telling tales of the fairy who traveled like steam 
In a pumpkin-shell coach, with two rats for her 

team ! 

Then thanks for thy present ! — none sweeter or 

better 
E'er smoked from an oven or circled a platter ! 
Fairer hands never wrought at a pastry more fine. 
Brighter eyes never watched o'er its baking than 

thine ! 
And the prayer, which my mouth is too full to 

express. 
Swells my heart that thy shadow may never be 

less, 
That the days of thy lot may be lengthened below, 
And the fame of thy worth like a pumpkin-vine 

grow. 
And thy life be as sweet, and its last sunset sky 
Gold-tinted and fair as thine own pumpkin-pie ! 

J. G. Whittier. 

SONG Tune : *♦ Yankee Doodle." 

HAT matters it the cold wind's blast. 
What matters though 'tis snowing, 
Thanksgiving Day has come at last; 
To grandmamma's we're going. 
Wrapped in furs as warm as toast. 

O'er the hills we're fleeting; j 

To welcome friends, a merry host 
And grandma's smile of greeting. 

The sleigh bells jingle merrily. 
And though the flakes are flying. 

At last beyond the hills we see 
A little mansion lying. 




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375 



I'm sure we'll find sweet cakes and fruit 
And pumpkin pies so yellow ; 

For grandma knows just how to suit 
Each hungry little fellow. 
RECITAL ........ Outside and In. 

(May be recited by three girls ; No. i remaining 
on the platform while No. 2 recites the second part, 
and both standing while No. 3 steps between and 
repeats the closing verse.) 

'UST outside the window, 

Through the cold night air, 
Snowflakes falling softly. 
Dropping here and there. 
Covering like a blanket 
All the ground below, 
Where the flowers are sleeping, 

Tucked in by the snow. 
They are dreaming sweetly, 

Through the winter's night, 
Of the summer's morning 
Coming sure and bright. 

2. Just inside the window 

Firelight ruddy gleams ; 
On the walls and ceiling 

Dance its merry beams. 
White as outside snowflakes 

Is the little bed ; 
On the downy pillow 

Rests a curly head. 
Like the flowers the child is dreaming 

Of the long, bright hours of play 
Coming as the darkness melteth 

Into sunny day. 

3. And above the sleepers, — 

Be they child or flower, — 
Our loving Father bendeth 
Watching hour by hour. 
'Tis his love which giveth 
Blessings great or small ; 
'Tis his sun which shineth, 
Making day for all. 

ORATION The Laboring Classes. 

IR, it is an insult to our laboring 
classes to compare them to the 
debased poor of Europe. Why, 




sir, we of this country do not know what 
poverty is. We have no poor in this country, 
in the sense in which that word is used abroad. 
Every laborer, even the most humble, in the 
United States, soon becomes a capitalist, and 
even, if he choose, a proprietor of land ; for 
the West, with all its boundless fertility, is 
open to him. 

How can any one dare compare the me- 
chanic of this land (whose inferiority, in any 
substantial particular, in intelligence, in virtue, 
in wealth, to the other classes of our society, 
T have yet to learn) with that race of outcasts, 
of which so terrific a picture is presented by 
recent writers^--the poor of Europe ? — a race 
among no inconsiderable portion of whom 
famine and pestilence may be said to dwell 
continually ; many of whom are without 
morals, without education, without a country, 
without a God ! and may be said to know 
society only by the terrors of its penal code, 
and to live in perpetual war with it. Poor 
bondmen ! mocked with the name of liberty, 
that they may be sometimes tempted to 
break their chains, in order that, after a 
few days of starvation in idleness and dis- 
sipation, they may be driven back to their 
prison-house to take their shackles up again, 
heavier and more galling than before; sev- 
ered, as it has been touchingly expressed, 
from nature, from the common air, and the 
light of the sun ; knowing only by hear- 
say that the fields are green, that the 
birds sing, and that there is a perfume in 
flowers ! 

And is it with a race whom the perverse 
institutions of Europe have thus degraded 
beneath the condition of humanity that the 
advocates, the patrons, the protectors, of our 
working-men, presume to compare them ? 
Sir, it is to treat them with a scorn at which 
their spirit should revolt, and does revolt. 

Hugh Legare. 



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PROGRAMMES FOR SPECIAL OCCASIONS. 




RECITATION A Thanksgiving. 

(For six boys. They stand in a row and each 
steps forward to recite his verse). 

OR the wealth of pathless forests, 
Whereon no axe may fall ; 
For the winds that haunt the branches ; 

The young bird's timid call ; 
Foi Jie red leaves dropped like rubies 

Upon the dark green sod ; 

For the waving of the forests 

I thank thee, O my God ! 

For the sound of water gushing 

In the bubbling beads of light ; 
For the fleets of snow-white lilies 

Firm anchored out of si^\t ; 
For the reeds among the eddies ; 

The crystal on the clod ; 
For the flowing of the rivers, 

I thank thee, O my God ! 

For the rosebud's break of beauty 

Along the toiler's way; 
For the violet's eye that opens 

To bless the new-born day ; 
For the bare twigs that in summer 

Bloom like the prophet's rod ; 
For the blossoming of flowers, 

I thank thee, O my God ! 

For the lifting up of mountains, 

In brightness and in dread ; 
For the peaks where snow and sunshine 

Alone have dared to tread ; 
For the dark and silent gorges. 

Whence mighty cedars nod ; 
For the majesty of mountains, 

I thank thee, O my God ! 

For the splendor of the sunsets. 

Vast mirrored on the sea ; 
For the gold-fringed clouds that curtain 

Heaven's inner mystery ; 
For the molten bars of twilight, 

Where thought leans glad yet awed ; 



For the glory of the sunsets, 
I thank thee, O my God ! 

For the earth and all its beauty } 

The sky and all its light ; 
For the dim and soothing shadow . 

That rest the dazzled sight; 
For unfading fields and prairies, 

Where sense in vain has trod ; 
For the world's exhaustless beauty, 

I thank thee, O my God ! 

Lucy Larcom 

SONG The Pilgrims. 

Tune , *' Lightly Row.'" 

Y^ONG ago, 
I J| To our land 

JUJ^^ ^^^ Came the Mayflower's little band. 

Long ago 
To our land 
Came the Mayflower's band. 
O, they came across the sea, 
For the heart's devotion free. 
Long ago 
To our land 
Came the Mayflower's band. 

Winter, spring, 

Slowly passed, 
And the harvest came at last. 

Winter, spring, 

Slowly passed 
Harvest came at last. 

Then for all the blessings given. 
Thanks they rendered unto heaven, 

From that day 

Came to stay, 
Glad Thanksgiving Day. 

TABLEAU Harvest Home. 

(Handsome lady, representing Ceres, surrounded 
by baskets or shocks of grain, wheat, corn, etc., 
with farmers in attitudes of gathering or binding the 
crops). 



PROGRAMMES FOR SPECIAL OCCASIONS. 



ST7 



PROGRAMME FOR FLOWER DAY. 




30NQ. . , ... .Tune: *' My Country." 

ET us with nature sing, 
And floral tributes bring, 
On f,his glad day ; 
Violets white and blue, 
Daisies and lilies too, 
Pansies of purple hue. 
And roses gay. 

O'er this fair land of ours, 
Blossom the golden flowers 

In loveliness; 
From Maine to Washington, 
Wherever smiles the sun, 
Their fairy footsteps run 

To cheer and bless. 

When winter's curtains gray> 
From skies are pushed away 

By nature's hand; 
We gladly welcome you, 
Blossoms of red and blife. 
Blossoms of every hue. 

To our fair land. 

RECITAL. . . The Poppy and Mignonette. 

NCE 'tis said, gay, flaunting poppies, 
And the humble mignonette. 
Side by side grew in a garden 
Where one day their glances met. 
Cried a Poppy : '' Of your presence. 

In this spot we have no need, 
You are sadly out of place, 
You are nothing but a weed." 

Meekly bowed the Mignonette 
And ashamed in silence stood. 

When there came a gentle murmur. 
Like a whisper from the wood : 
"Henceforth, gay and flaunting poppies, 
Proud and stately in thy bloom. 

Shall be taken half thy beauty- 
All thy wealth of sweet perfume. 

It is thine, O mignonette, 

Flower of sweet and lowly grace ; 

Thou shalt win the hearts of others. 
Though thou hast a humble face." 




And the magic of that whisper, 

Holds its mystic power yet ; 
Poppies lure us with their beauty, 

But we love the mignonette. 

FLOWER QUOTATIONS. 

(For seven pup'ls, each of whom recites a verse, 
prefacing it with the name of the author.) 

Wordsiuorth wrote: 

(^ i HE rainbow comes and goes, 
< I And lovely is the rose ; 
-*- The moon doth with delight 

Look round her when the heavens are bare. 

Waters on a starry night, 
Are beautiful and fair. 

Longfellow wrote : 

O flower de luce, bloom on, and let the river 

Linger to kiss thy feet. 
O flower of song, bloom on, and make forever 
The world more fair and sweet. 

Lowell wrote : 

The cowslip startles in meadows green. 

The buttercup catches the sun in its chalic^ 
And there's never a blade or a flower too mean, 
To be some happy creature's palace. 
Leigh Hunt wrote ; 

We are violets blue, 

For our sweetness found 
Careless in the mossy shades. 

Looking on the ground. 
Love-dropped eye-lids, and a kiss, 
Such our breath and blueness is. 
John Wolcott wrote : 

The daisies peep from every field, 
And violets sweet their odors yield. 
The purple blossom paints the thorn. 
And streams reflect the blush of morn 
Then lads and lasses, all be gay, 
For this is Nature's holiday. 
Horace Smith wrote : 
Your voiceless lips, O flowers, are living teachers, 

Each cup a pulpit and each leaf a book, 
Supplying to my fancy numerous teachers. 
From loveliest nook. 



378 



PROGRAMMES FOR SPECIAL OCCASIONS. 



Lowell wrote : 

AVinds wander, and dews drip earthward, 

Rains fall, suns rise and set, 
Earth whirls, and all but to prosper 
A poor little violet. 

SONQ Tune: '♦ Auld Lang Syne." 



1^; 



HEN winter o'er the hills afar, 
Has vanished from the land, 
x\nd glad and welcome signs of Spring 
Are seen on every hand. 
Then Robin in his vest of red, 

And sober suit of brown, 
From out his sunny, southern home. 
Flies gaily into town. 

The blossoms smile to hear him sing, 

And see him build his nest ; 
For of all merry summer birds 

Dear Robin, they love best. 
He chirps and twitters at his work, 

While skies forget to frown, 
And all the world is glad and gay 

When Robin lives in town. 

The summer softly fades away 

Into the winter drear, 
Then Robin gayly sings, •' good-bye,, 

I'll come another year," 
So when the woodland trees are bare, 

And snowy flakes fall down ; 
In little suit of brown and red. 

Dear Robin leaves the town. 

RECITATION Flowers. 

'OW the universal heart of man blesses 
flowers ! They are wreathed round 
the cradle, the marriage altar, and 
the tomb. The Persian in the far 
East delights in their perfume, and writes his 
love in nosegays ; while the Indian child of 
the far West clasps his hands with glee as he 
gathers the abundant blossoms — the illumi- 
nated scripture of the prairies. The Cupid 
of the ancient Hindoos tipped his arrows 
with flowers, and orange buds are the bridal 
crown with us, a nation of yesterday. Flowers 




garlanded the Grecian altar, and they hang in 
votive wreaths before the Christian shrine. 

All these are appropriate uses. Flowers 
should deck the brow of the youthful bride, 
for they are in themselves a lovely type o\ 
marriage. They should twine round the 
tomb, for their perpetually renewed beaut}/ is 
a symbol of the resurrection. They should 
festoon the altar, for their fragrance and their 
beauty ascend in perpetual worship before 
the Most High. Lydia M. Child. 

THE FOOLISH HAREBELL. 

(For eighteen pupils, each speaking two lines.) 

(^lY HAREBELL hung its willful head : 

j^4 '' I am so tired, so tired ! I wish I was 
J^^K^^ dead." 

She hung her head in the mossy dell : 
"If all were over, then all were well." 

The wind he heard, and was pitiful ; 
He waved her about to make her cool. 

"■ Wind, you are rough," said the dainty bell j 
'^ Leave me alone — I am not well." 

And the wind, at the voice of the drooping dame, 
Sank in his heart, and ceased for shame. 

" I am hot, so hot ! " she sighed and said ; 
** I am withering up ; I wish I was dead." 

Then the sun, he pitied her pitiful case, 
And drew a thick veil over his face. 

'' Cloud, go away, and don't be rude; 
I am not — I don't see why you should." 

The cloud withdrew, and the harebell cried, 
" I am faint, so faint ! and no water beside ! " 

And the dew came down its million-fold, path; 
But she murmured, "I did not want a bath." 

A boy came by in the morning gray; 

He plucked the harebell, and threw it away. 

The harebell shivered, and cried, '' Oh ! oh ! 
I am faint, so faint ! Come, dear wind, blow." 

The wind blew softly, and did not speak. 
She thanked him kindly, but grew more weak. 



PROGRAMMES FOR SPECIAL OCCASIONS. 



379 



(^ 1 o De answi 

w 



" Sun, dear sun, I am cold," she said. 

He rose ; but lower she drooped her head. 

* ' O rain ! I am withering ; all the blue 
Is fadmg out of me; — come, please do." 

The rain came down as fast as it could, 
But for all its will it did her no good. 

She shuddered and shriveled, and moaning said; 
** Thank you all kindly; " and then she was dead. 

Let us hope, let us hope, when she comes next 

year, 
She'll be simple and sweet. But I fear, I fear. 
George Macdonald. 

QUESTIONS ABOUT FLOWERS. 

(To be answered by a class or the whole school.) 

HAT is the favorite flower of the 
poets ? 
Ans. The daisy. 

What English poet so loved the daisy that 
he lay all one day in the field to see it open 
in the morning and close at night ? 

Ans. Chaucer. 

What violet, so called, really belongs to the 
lily family ? 

Ans. The dog-tooth violet. 

What flower was named by the Greeks 
after one of their gods ? 

Ans, The pansy, after Pan. 

About what flower was Emerson's finest 
poem written ? 

Ans. The rhodora. 

Which of the buttercups are foreigners ? 

Ans. The tall buttercup and the common 
buttercup with bulbous base. 

Name some other imported flowers. 

Ans. Dandelion and ox eyed daisy. 

Name two distinctly American blossoms. 

Ans. Indian pipe and blood-root. 

What queen adopted the daisy as her 
flower ? 

Ans. Queen Margherita of Italy. 

Name one of the most brilliant of August 
flowers. 




Ans. The cardinal flower. 

What is one of the most difficult wild 
flowers to cultivate ? 

Ans. Trailing arbutus, whicn grows all 
over the United States. 

What floral poem of Wordsworth's is 
famous ? 

Ans. Daflbdils. 

What is the most beautiful plant of Au- 
tumn? 

Ans. The golden rod. 

RECITATION Pansies. 

E had climbed to the top of the old Gray 
Peak, 
And viewed the valley o'er ; 
And we started off on our homeward tramp, 

A good three miles or more. 
The road lay curved like a ribbon of gold. 

Around the base of the hill, 
And the brook gleamed out with a silver sheen, 
From thickets near the mill. 

But the sun shone warm on the du«ty road, 

Until by heat oppressed. 
We wearily stopped at a cottage gate ; 

The matron bade us rest. 
How cool was the shade of the trumpet-vine, 

A spring ran fresh and clear ? 
The flash and whirr of a jeweled thing, 

A humming-bird was near. 

We were sauntering down the garden path, 

Repeating kind good-byes. 
When suddenly now were our footsteps stayed, 

New beauties met our eyes. 
''Will you have some pansies?" the hostess 
asks, 

*' O, thank you, on ! " we say ; 
But the matron is culling the purple blooms, ' 

We let her have her way. 

Purple and blue and russet and gold 

Those fragrant rich bouquets ; 
*' Ah ! " she explains, '* of my violets sweet, 

You have not learned the ways. 



380 



PROGRAMMES FOR SPECIAL OCCASIONS. 




** There is something good about pansies 
That's worth your while to know; 

The more they are picked and given away 
The more they're sure to grow." 

Mary A. McClelland. 

RECITAL Plant Song. 

AVIIERE do you come from, berries red, 
Nuts, apples and plums, that hang ripe 

overhead, 

Sweet, juicy grapes, with your rich 
purple hue, 
Saying, '' Pick us and eat us; we're growing for 
you ? ' ' 

O, where do you come from, bright flower and 

fair, 
That please with your colors and fragrance so rare, 
Glowing with sunshine or sparkling with dew ? 
''We are blooming for dear little children like 

you." 

''Our roots are our mouths, taking food from the 

ground. 
Our leaves are our lungs, breathing air all 

around, 
Our sap, like your blood, our veins courses 

through — 
Don't you think, little children, we're somewhat 

like you? 

" Your hearts are the soil, your thoughts are the 

seeds ; 
Your lives may become useful plants or foul weeds ; 
If thou think but good thoughts your lives will be 

true, 
For good women and men were once children 

like you." Nellie M. Brown. 

50NQ. . . . TUNE.—" Bounding Billows." 

E would hail thee, joyous summer, 
We would welcome thee to-day. 
With thy skies so blue and cloudless 
And thy song-birds, glad and gay. 

Oh, the blossoms hear thee calling, 
Hear thy voice that ne'er deceives^ 

And they waken from their slumbers 
Far beneath the withered leaves. 




Little brooks with merry laughter, 
Run to greet their lovely guest ; 

For of all the happy seasons 

Summer dear, they love thee best. 

So we hail thee, joyous summer. 
We would welcome thee to day; 

With thy skies so blue andcloudless. 
And thy song-birds, glad and gay. 

READING ........ Sunimer=Time. 

(f) I HEY were right — those old German 
^ I minnesingers — to sing the pleasant 
summer-time ! What a time it is ! 
How June stands illuminated in the calen* 
dar! The windows are all wide open; only 
the Venetian blinds closed. ITere and there 
a long streak of sunshine streams in through 
a crevice. We hear the low sound of the 
wind among the trees; and, as it swells and 
freshens, the distant doors clap to, with a 
sudden sound. The trees are heavy with 
leaves; and the gardens full of blossoms, red 
and white. The whole atmosphere is laden 
with perfume and sunshine. The birds sing. 
The cock struts about, and crows loftily. 
Insects chirp in the grass. Yellow buttercups 
stud the green carpet like golden buttons, 
and the red blossoms of the clover like 
rubies. 

The elm-trees reach their long, pendu- 
lous branches almost to the gr.ound. White 
clouds sail aloft, and vapors fret the blue sky 
with silver threads. The white village 
gleams afar against the dark hills. Through 
the meadow winds the river — careless, indo- 
lent. It seems to love the country, and is in 
no haste to reach the sea. The bee only is 
at work — the hot and angry bee. All things 
else are at play ! he never plays, and is vexed 
that any one should. 

People drive out from town to breathe, 
and to be happy. Most of them have flowers 
in their hands; bunches of apple-blossoms, 
and still oftener lilacs. Ye denizens of the 



PROGRAMMES FOR SPECIAL OCCASIONS. 



381 



crowded city, how pleasant to you is the 
change from the sultry streets to the open 
fields, fragrant with clover blossoms! how 
pleasant the fresh, breezy country air, dashed 
with brine from the meadows ! how pleasant, 
above all, the flowers, the manifold beautiful 
flowers ! H. W. Longfellow. 

30NQ o . Tune.— «' The Last Rose of Suni= 



4L A: 



mer, 

IS the last rose of summer 
Left blooming alone; 
All her lovely companions 
Are faded and gone; 
No flower of her kindred, 

No rose bud is nigh, 
To reflect back her blushes, 
Or give sigh for sigh ! 

I'll not leave thee, thou lone one, 
To pine on the stem ; 



Since the lovely are sleeping, 
Go, sleep thou with them. 

Thus kindly I scatter 
Thy leaves o'er the bed 

Where thy mates of the garden 
Lie scentless and dead. 

So soon may ollow. 

When friendships decay. 
And from love's shining circle 

The gems drop away ! 
When true hearts lie withered 

And fond ones are flown, 
Oh ! who would inhabit 

This bleak world alone ? 

Thomas Moore. 

MARCH Honor to the Flag. 

(Young people march to a well known tune ; each 
carries a bouquet, and, approaching a staff flying the 
Stars and Stripes, places the flowers at the base.) 



Dialogues for Schools and Lyceums. 




IN WANT OF A SERVANT. 

Characters : 
Mr. Marshall and Wife. 
Margaret O' Flanagan. 
Katrina Van Follestein. 
Snowdrop Washington. 
Mrs. Bunker. 
Freddie. 

Sce?te I. — The breakfast-room of Mr. and 
Mrs. Marshali,. Mr. Marshall enjoying 
the morning paper with his heels on the 
mantel. 
Mrs. Marshall {in a complaining to7te.) 

H, dear, Charles, how sick and tired I 
am of housework ! I do envy peo- 
ple who are able to keep help. Here 
I am tied up to the little hot kitchen morn- 
ing till night — stewing, and baking, and fry- 
ing, and scrubbing, and washing floors, till I 
am ready to sink ! One thing over and over 
again. I wonder why Hood, when he wrote 
the " Song of the Shirt," had not kept on and 
written the ** Song of the Basement Story." 

Mr. M. Is it so very bad, Lily ? Why, I 
always thought it must be nice work to cook 
— and washing dishes is the easiest thing in 
the world. All you have to do is to pour a 
little hot water over 'em and give 'em a flirt 
over with a towel. 

Mrs. M. That's all you men know about 
it ; it is the hardest work in the world ! I 
always hated it. I remember, when I was a 
little girl, I always used to be taken with a 
headache when mother wanted me to wash 
che dishes. And then she'd dose me with 
rhubarb. Ugh ! how bitter it was ; but not 
382 



half so bitter as washing dishes in boiling 
water in a hot kitchen in the middle of 
August! 

Mr. M. [meditatively taking his feet from 
the mantel}) I made a lucky sale this morn- 
ing, and saved a cool three hundred. I had 
intended giving you a new silk, but I'll do 
better — I'll hire you a girl. How will that 
suit? 

Mrs. M. Oh, what a darhng! I would 
kiss you if you hadn't been smoking, and 
my collar weren't quite so fresh. I am afraid 
I shall muss it. But you are a good soul, 
Charlie ; and I shall be so happy. Do you 
really mean it ? 

Mr. M. To be sure. 

Mrs. M. Won't Mrs. Fitzjones die of envy? 
She puts her washing out, and she's always 
flinging that in my face. I guess the boot 
will be on the other foot now ! I wonder 
what she'll say when she runs in of a morn- 
ing to see what I'm cooking, and finds me in 
the parlor hem-stitching a handkerchief, and 
my maid attending to things in the kitchen? 
But where is a girl to be had ? Will you go 
to the intelligence office ? 

Mr. M. No ; I don't approve of intelli 
gence offices. I will advertise. Bring me a 
pen and ink, Lily. 

Mrs. M. (bringing the articles}) You won't 
say that to me any more, Charles. It will 
be, "Biddy, my good girl, bring me the writ, 
ing implements." Won't it be nice ? Just 
like a novel. They always have servants, 
you know. 

Mr. M. What, the novels ? 

Mrs. M. No ; the people in them. Are 



DIALOGUES FOR SCHOOLS AND LYCEUMS. 



3S3 



you writing the advertisement ? Be sure and 
say that no one need apply except experi- 
enced persons. I want no green hands about 
my kitchen. 

Mr, M. {reads from the paper what he has 
been writing^ " Wanted, by a quiet family, a 
girl to do general housework. None but 
those having had experience need apply. Call 

at No. Ii6 B street, between the hours 

of ten and two." How will that answer ? 

uWrs. M, Admirably ! Charles, you ought 
to have been an editor. You express your 
ideas so clearly! 

Mr. M. Thank you, my dear, thank you. 
I believe I have some talent for expressing 
my meaning. But I am going down town 
now, and will have this advertisement in- 
serted in the Herald, and by to-morrow you 
can hold yourself in readiness to receive ap- 
plicants. By-bye (^goes out). 

Mrs. M» {alone). If it isn't the most charm- 
ing thing ! Won't the Fitzjoneses and Mrs. 
Smith be raving ? Mrs. Smith has got s, bound 
girl, and Mrs. Fitzjones puts out her washing; 
but I am to have a regular servant ! I shall get 
a chance to practice my music now. Dear me 
—how red my hands are ! [looks at them) I must 
get some cold cream for them ; one's hands 
show so on the white keys of a piano. I'll go 
and open that piano now, and dust it. It must 
be dreadfully out of tune. But I'll have it 
tuned as soon as ever I get that girl fairly 
initiated into my way of doing work {goes out). 

Scene II. — Mrs. Marshall awaiting the com- 
ing of applicants,'' A furious ring at the 
front door bell, 

Mrs. M. {peeping through the blinds). Dear 
me ! I wonder who's coming ! A person 
applying for the situation of servant would 
not be likely to come to the front door. I 
can just see the edge of a blue-silk flounce, 
and a streamer of red ribbon on the bonnet, 
ril go and see who it is {opens the door, and 



a stoiLt Irish girl, gaudily dressed, with an eye- 
glass, and a bonnet of enormous dimensions 
Pushes by her, and entering the parlor, seats 
herself in the rocking-chair). 

Mrs. M. To what am I indebted for this 
visit ? 

Irish Girl. It looks well for the like of yees 
to ask! It's the leddy what's wanting a 
young leddy to help in the wurrk that I'm 
after seeing. 

Mrs. M. {with dignity). I am that person, 
if you please. What may I call your name? ■ 

Irish Girl. Me name's Margaret O'Flana- 
gan, though some people has the impudence 
to call me Peggy ; but if ever the likes of it 
happens agin I'll make the daylight shine 
into 'em where it never dramed of shining 
before. What may your name be, mum ? 

Mrs. M. My name is Marshall. I am in 
want of a servant. 

Margaret. Sarvint, is it ? Never a bit of a 
sarvint will I be for anybody ! The blud of 
my forefathy would cry out against it. But 
I might have ixpected it from the appearance 
of yees. Shure, and I'd no other thought 
but ye was the chambermaid. Marshall, is 
it? Holy St. Patrick! why that was the 
name of the man that was hung in County 
Cork for the murthering of Dennis McMur- 
phy, and he had a nose exactly like the one 
forenlnst yo u r face. {A second ring at the door. 
Mrs. Marshall ushers in a stolid-faced Ger- 
man girl, and an over-dressed colored lady. 
They take seats on the sofa.) 

German Girl, Ish dis the place mit the wo- 
man what wants a girl in her housework that 
was put into de paper day pefore to-morrow. 

Mrs, M, Yes, I am the woman. What is 
your name? 

German Girl. Katrina Van Follenstein. I 
can do leetle of most everything. I can baks 
all myself, and bile, and fry ; and makes sour- 
krout — oh, sphlendid ! And I sphanks the 
children as well as their own mudders. 



384 



DIALOGUES FOR SCHOOLS AND LYCEUMS. 



Marg. If ye'll condescend to lave that dirty 
Dutchman, young leddy, I'll be afther asking 
ye a ^cw questions ; and then if ye don't shute 
me I can be laving. Me time is precious. 
Is them the best cheers in yer house ? 

Mrs, M. They are. 

Marg. Holy Virgin ! Why, mum, I've 
been used to having better cheers than them 
in me own room, and a sofy in me kitchen to 
lay me bones on when they're took aching. 
Have ye got a wine cellar ? 

Mrs. M. {indignantly). No ! We are tem- 
perance people. 

Marg. Oh, botheration ! Then ye'll niver 
do for me, at all at all ? It's wine I must 
have every day to keep me stummach in 
tune, and if Barney O'Grath comes in of an 
evening I should die of mortification if I didn't 
have a drop of something to trate him on. 
And about the peanny. It's taking lessons 
I am, meself, and if it's out of kilter, why, it 
must be fixed at once. I never could think 
of playing on a instrument that was ontuned. 
It might spile me voice. 

Mrs. M. I want no servants in rny house 
who are taking music lessons. I hire a girl 
to do my work — not to dictate to me, and 
sit in the parlor. 

Marg. Ye don't hire me. No mum ! Not 
by a long walk. It's not Margaret O'Flanagan 
that'll be hosted round by an old sharp-nosed 
crayter like yerself, wid a mole on yer left 
cheek, and yer waterfall made out of other 
folks' hair ! The saints be blessed, me own 
is an illegant one — and never a dead head was 
robbed for to make it ! 'Twas the tail of me 
cousin Jimmy's red horse — rest his soul ! 

Mrs. M. {pointing to the door). You can 
leave the house. Miss O'Flanagan. You 
won't suit me. 

Marg. And you won't shute me. I wouldn't 
work with ye for a thousand dollars a week ! 
It's not low vulgar people that Margaret 
O'Flanagan associates with. Good-bye to 



ye ! . I pity the girl ye gets. May the saints 
presarve her — and not a drop of wine in the 
house ! (Margaret goes out.) 

Mrs. M. Well, Katrina, are you ready to 
answer a few questions ? 

Katrina. Yah ; I is. 

Mrs. M. Are you acquainted with general 
housework ? 

Kat. Nix ; I never have seen that shin- 
neral. I know Shinneral Shackson, and Shin- 
neral Grant, but not that one to speak of! 

Mrs. M. I intended to ask if you are used 
to doing work in the kitchen^ 

Kat. Yaw, I sees. Dat ish my thrade. 

Mrs. M. Can 5^ou cook ? 

Kat. Most people, what bees shenteel, 
keeps a cook. 

Mrs. M. I do not. I shall expect you to 
cook. Can you wash ? 

Kat. Beeples that ish in de upper-crust 
puts their washing out. 

Mrs. M. Can you make beds, and sweep? 

Kat. The dust of the fedders sthuffs up my 
head, what has got one leetle giutar into it. 
Most beeples keeps a chambermaid. Now, 
I wants to ask you some tings. You gits up 
in morning, and gits breakfast, of course ? It 
makes mine head ache to git up early. And 
you'll dust all the furnitures, and schrub the 
kittles, and your goot man will wash the floors 
and pump the water, and make the fires, 
and 

Mrs. M. We shall do no such thing. What 
an insolent wretch ! You can go at once. 
I've no further use for you. You won't suit. 

Kat. {retreating). Mine krout! what a par- 
ticular vomans. 

Colored Lady. Wall, missis, specks here's 
jest de chile for ye. What wages does you 
gib ? and what is yer pollyticks ? 

Mrs. M. What is your name — t^^d what 
wages do you expect ? 

Colored Lady. My name is Snowdrop 
Washington, and I specks five dollars a week 



DIALOGUES FOR SCHOOLS AND LYCEUMS. 



385 



If I do my own washing, but if it is put out 
to de washerwoman's wid de rest of de tings, 
den I takes off a quarter. And it's best to 
have a fair understanding now, in de begin- 
ning. I'm very particular about my after- 
noons. Tuesdays I studies my cataplasin 
and can't be 'sturbed; Wednesdays I goes to 
see old Aunt Sally Gumbo, what's got de 
spine of de back ; Thursdays I allers takes a 
dose of lobeely for me stummuch, and has to 
lay abed ; and Fridays I ginerally walks out 
wid Mr. Sambo Snow, a fren of mine — and 
in none of dem cases can I be 'sturbed. And 
1 shall spect you to find gloves for me to do 
de work in ; don't like to sile my hands. 

Mrs, M. I want to hire a girl to work — • 
every day— and every hour in the day. 

Snowdrop. The laws-a-massy ! what a mis- 
sis ! Why, in dat case dis chile haint no 
better off dan wite trash ! Ketch Snowdrop 
Washington setting in that pew ! Not dis 
nigger. I wish you a berry lubly morning ! 
{^goes out, and a woman clad in widow's zveeds, 
and a little boy enter.) 

Woman {in a brisk tone\ Are you the per- 
son that wants to hire help ? Dear me, don't 
I smell onions ! I detest onions ! Only vul- 
gar people eat 'em ! Have your children had 
the measles ? Because I never could think 
of taking Freddie where he might be exposed 
to that dreadful disease! Freddie, my love, 
put down that vase. If you should break 
it, you might cut yourself with the pieces. 
Have you a dog about the house, marm ? 

Mrs. M. Yes, we have. 

Woman in Black, Good gracious ! he 
must be killed then ! I shouldn't see a bit of 
comfort if Freddie was where there was a 
dog. The last words my dear lamented hus- 
band said to me were these : " Mrs. Bunker, 
take care of Freddie." Bunker's my name, 
marm. Have you a cow ? 

Mrs. M. We have not. 

Mrs. Bunker, How unfortunate I Well, I 
(25— X) 



suppose you can buy one. Freddie depends 
so much on his new milk ; and so do I 
H^ow many children have you ? 

Mrs. M. Three. 

Mrs. B. Good gracious ! what a host ! I hope 
none of them have bad tempers, or use profane 
language. I wouldn't have Freddie associate 
with them for the world if they did. He's a 
perfect cherub in temper. My darling, don't 
pull the cat's tail ! she may scratch you. 

Mrs. M. You need not remain any longer, 
Mrs. Bunker. I do not wish to employ a 
maid with a child. 

Mrs. B. Good heavens ! {indignantly). 
Whoever saw such a hard-hearted wretch ! 
Object to my darling Freddie ! Did I ever 
expect to live to see the day when the off- 
spring of my beloved Jeremiah would be 
treated in this way ? I'll not stay another 
moment in the house with such an unfeeling 
monster! Come, Freddie. {Goes out. Mrs. 
Marshall closes the door and locks it^ 

Mrs. M. Gracious ! if this is the way of 
having a servant, I am satisfied. I'll do my 
own work till the end of the chapter ! There's 
another ring ; but I won't answer it — not I. 
I'll make believe I'm not at home. Ring 
away, if it's any satisfaction to you ! It 
doesn't hurt me. Clara Augusta. 

THE UNWELCOME QUEST. 

Characters : 

Mr. Edward Simpson. 

Mrs. Emeline Simpson, his wife. 

John Simpson, his brother, and a guest. 

Mr. Martin Jones. 

Mrs. Eliza Jones, his wife. 
SCENE — A room in Edward Simpson'' s 
house. Mr. and Mrs. Simpson discovered. 
Mrs. S, 

DWARD, I may just as well say plainly 

that I think we must do something to 

get your brother off our hands. 




386 



DIALOGUES FOR SCHOOLS AND LYCKUMS. 



He has been here now over two weeks, and 
he stays and stays just as if this was his 
home, and as if he hadn't the slightest idea 
of ever going away. 

Mr, S. You are quite right, wife ; we must 
'get him away. I thought it possible, when 
he came here, that he had plenty of money ; 
but that idea has vanished entirely. If he 
had money, he would not go around so shab- 
bily dressed. He had the audacity to hint 
to me yesterday that I might buy him a new 
;oat ; just as if I hadn't enough to do to buy 
ew coats for myself and my children. 

Mrs. S. Oh ! the impudence of some peo- 
ple ! I am sure we have done very well in 
keeping him these two weeks, and not charg- 
ing him a cent for his boarding. And now 
he wants a new coat, does he? I wonder he 
didn't ask for a full suit; he certainly has 
need of it ; but he needn't expect to get it 
here. But are you su7'e, Edward, that he 
didn't bring any money home with him ? 

Mr. S. Yes, quite sure. I didn't say any- 
thing to him about it, but John was never 
the man to go in rags if he had any money 
in his pocket. He has been away for fifteen 
years, you know, and he might have made 
plenty of money in that time; but it is my 
impression, that if he did make anything, 
he spent it all before he started for home. 

Mrs. S. Well, what are we to do with 
him ? 

Mr. S. Send him to the poor-house, I sup- 
jse. I don't quite like to do that, either J 
.or people will talk, and they will say that I 
ought to have kept him in his old days. 

Mrs. S. Let them talk. It's nobody's 
business but our own, and it will all blow over 
in a week or two. Of course we can't have 
him on our hp.nds as long as he lives, merely 
because the neighbors will talk a littlf about 
oui sending him to the poor-house. 

Mr. S. No, of cours-^ not. Here he comes 
now; we must inform hh/ of our decision. 



Bn^er John Simpson, sJiahbily dressed. 

Mr. S. John, we have been talking about 
you. 

John, So I supposed. I thought I heard 
my name mentioned. You were considering 
that matter about vhe coat, were you? I 
hope you will think favorably of it. 

Mrs. S. {bridling up) No, sir; we were 
not thinking of bu} ''ng you a coat, but we 
were speaking of } our audacity in making 
such a request. 

JoJm. Ah ! were you ? Don't you see I 
am old now, and dreadfully crippled with 
rheumatism? And, of course I am not able 
to work to buy myself clothes. If my brother 
will not take care of me now, who will ? 

Mrs. S. That's just what we are going to 
talk about. 

Mr. S. Wife, allow me to speak to John 
about the matter, {/o John.) It may sound 
a little harsh and unpleasant, but we have 
come to the conclusion that we cannot keep 
you any longer. Y^>u know that we are not 
very well off in this ^vorld's goods; we have 
not much house-rorm, and we have three 
children that demanc' our attention. We have 
kept you two weeks and we think we have 
done very well. Wr. feel that you would be 
considerably in our road here, and we have 
concluded to send you to the poor-house. 

John. The poor-house ! I always did hate 
the poor-house. It must be so lonesome 
there ; and then, I o .>n't think the boarding 
will be good. Must I go to the poor-house? 

Mr. S. Yes, we ha^/e decided. We cannot 
keep you. 

John. I thought, when I was away, that if 
I could only get heme again, I would find 
my brother willing to take me under his 
roof, and allow me fo end my days there. 
But I was mistaken. When must I go ? 

Mr. S. I will have x^h^ papers made out, and 
be ready to take yoi- to-morrow afternoon. 

John.' Send for E*'za Jones and her hus» 



DIALOGUES FOR SCHOOLS AND LYCEUMS. 



387 



band. Tlu-y will not want to keep me either, 
I suppose — how can I expect them, when 
they are a great deal poorer than you ? But 
send for them. I want to see t^iem, and say 
good-bye, before I go away. * 

Mrs. S. Emeline, tell Parker to run across 

Jones' for his Uncle Martin and Aunt Eliza. 

\Exit Mrs. S. 

John. If they do not treat me well at the 
poor-house, what shall I do ? Cut stick and 
run off, or sue them for breach of promise ? 

Mr, S. {aside.) It seems to me, he takes it 
exceedingly cool. But it is better he should 
do so, than to make a noise about it {To 
/ohn.) I think you will be well treated- 
The Superintendent is very kind to all under 
his care, and is considered a perfect gentleman. 

John. A gentleman ! I'm glad of that. 
{Sarcastically) Ah! Edward, it i? a great 
thing to be a gentleman. 

Mr. S. I am glad you are willing to go 
without making any fuss about it. You know 
people zvill talk ; and they would talk a great 
deal more, if you should be opposed to going. 
I hope you will not think unkindly of us, 
because we have concluded to take this step; 
you see that we can not well keep you here ; 
and as you are getting old, and are greatly 
afflicted with rheumatism, you will be better 
attended to there than you could be here. 

John. Yes, yes, I understand. Don't fret 
about me, Edward. I suppose it isn't much 
difference v/here I live, and where I end my 
days. But, Edvv^ard, I think I would not have 
treated you so. However, one hardly knows 
what one will do when one comes to the pinch. 
If I had brought home a market-basket full of 
• 'nety-dollar gold pieces, perhaps I would not 
nave taken up so much room in your house, 
nor crowded your children so dreadfully. 

Enter Mrs. Simpson, and Mr. and Mrs. 
Jones. 

Mrs, J. (running to J<ihn) O John, my 



brother, they want to send you to the poor- 
house ! You shall not go ! you shall not go ! 

Mr. J. No, John, you shall not go. While 
we have a crust of bread, you shall share it 
with us. 

John. But I never did like to eat crusts. 

Mrs. S. That's him, for you ! He doesn't 
want to pay anything for his board, but \ ^., 
wants to have the best. 

John. And he doesn't like to eat dirt. 

Mrs. S. Do you mean to say I am a dirty 
cook ? 

John {whistles *' Yankee Doodle.') Come, 
if I am to go to the poor-house, let me be off. 

Mrs. J. You shall not go. We are poor, 
but you shall stay with us. We can find 
room for you, and we will be provided for, 
I'll warrant, some way. 

Mrs. S. People oughtn't to be rash about 
taking on a load they can't carry. 

Mr. S. Emeline, if Martin and Eliza want 
to keep John, let them do so ; don't say a 
word. Of course, I think they have quite 
enough to do to keep their own heads above 
water ; but if they want to keep John, it is 
their own business. 

John. Yes, it is their own business ; and 
if they were on the point of sinking, would 
you raise a finger to keep their heads above 
water? No! Edward. — I cannot call you 
brother, — I know you now. I leave your 
house to-day, but I do not go to the poor- 
house. I have money enough to buy and 
keep a hundred such little farms as yours, 
and a hundred such little men. I do not 
need your coats nor your cringing sympathies ; 
I wanted to know what kind of a man you 
were, and / know. When I came home, I 
determined to find out, in some way, whether 
you or the Jones family were most deserving 
of my money. I have found that out ; and I 
go with them, to make my home there. 

Mrs. S. But we didn't know 

John. Ay, I know it. You thought I was 



388 



DIALOGUES FOR SCHOOLS AND LYCEUMS. 



a beggar ; you thought I had no money and 
no clothes. If you had beheved otherwise, 
you would have received me with open arms. 
Come {to Mr. and Mrs. Jones), we will go. 
I shall not forget you for your kindness. I 
will make my home with you ; and if it is 
true that you have hard enough work to 
keep your heads above water it shall be so 
no longer. {To Mr. and Mrs. Simpson.) I 
had almost forgotten. Here are twenty dol- 
lars, for my two weeks' board {throwing down 
the bills). You see that although I may have 
a shabby appearance, I am yet able to pay my 
way in the world. Good-day, Mr. and Mrs. 
Simpson. {Exit John Simpson^ and Mr. and 
Mrs. Jones)) 

Mrs. vS. Isn't this dreadful ! {Rushes ont 
at 07ie side of the stage.) 

Mr. S. Confound the luck ! {Rushes out 
at the other side of the stage ^ 

[ Curtain falls. 
H. Elliot McBride. 

AUNTY PUZZLED. 

Characters : 

Pious Maiden Aunt and Wayward Little 
Girl, five or six years old. 

Aunt. 

,OW, Beth, this is the Sabbath day, 
and — 

^ V Niece. How do you know it is ? 

A. It is wrong to play to-day, 
Beth— 

N. Wrong to play what ? 

A. Anything. 

N. Tain't wrong to play Sunday-school. 
Didn't you wish dat Carlo was me when 
you was whippin' him, jest now, Aunt 
Dora? 

A. Beth, I'll tell you a beautiful story, the 
tender story of Joseph. 

N. Joseph who ? 

A. He had no other name 

N. Well, dat's funny. 




A. Joseph was the son of a good ola man, 
named Jacob — 

N. I knows him, he saws our wood, an' 
he's dot a wooden leg ! What was his last 
name? 

A. I don^t know, dear. 

N. Well, dat's ze same man. Our Jacob 
he ain't dot no ozzer name, either : des 
Jacob, old Jacob. 

A. This good old man had twelve sons. 

N. Any little girls ? 

A. Only one. 

N. Huh ! I dess she was mighty sorry wiz 
such a houseful of boys an' no little sister. 

A. Well, Jacob loved this son very much — 

N. How much ? 

A. Oh, ever so much ; more than he could 
tell. 

N. Ten hundred thousand bushels ? 

A. Yes, and more than that. He bought 
him a new coat — 

N. May Crawford's dot a new dress, dray 
and blue, an' pearl buttons on it, an' a new 
parasol, and I'm doing to have some new 
button shoes as twick as I can kick zese ones 
out. 

A. His father bought him a new coat, a 
beautiful coat of many colors — 

N. Oh, ho ! des like a bed quilt. 

A. And Joseph was very proud of this 
pretty coat — 

N. Huh ! I bet you ze boys frowed stones 
an' hollered at him if he wored it to school ' 

A. But his brothers, all of his older broth- 
ers, who — 

N. Did he wear it to school, Aunt Dorn *. 

A. No, I don't think he did. \ 

N. I dess he was afraid, and kept it for n 
Sunday coat Did he wear it to Su^'^ay 
school ? 

A. He didn't go to one. 

N. Den he was a heathen. 

A. No, Joseph wasn't a heathen. 

N. Den he was a bad boy. 



DIALOGUES FOR SCHOOLS AND LYCEUMS. 



389 



A. iNO, indeed ; Joseph was a good boy — 

N, Den why didn't he go to Sunday- 
school ? 

A, No matter. But all his brothers hated 
him because his father loved him the best 
and — 

N. I spect he always dot the biggest piece 
of pie. 

\ A. And so they wanted to get rid of him, 
because — 

N. Den why didn't zey send him out in 
the kitchen to talk with Jenny ? Dat's what 
my ma'am does. 

A, And they hated him all the more be- 
cause one night, Joseph had a dream — 

N. Oo-oo ! I dreamed dot ze big Bible on 
ze parlor had five long legs and a mouf full 
of sharp teeth, an^ it climbed onto my bed 
and drowled at me 'cause I bit ze wax apple 
an' tied gran'pa's wig onto Carlo's head last 
Sunday ! Oh, I was so scared an' I hollered 
an' ma'am said she dessed I had ze night- 
mare. 

A. Well, one day Joseph's father sent him 
away to see how his brothers were getting 
along — 

N. Why didn't he write 'em a letter ? 

A. And when they saw Joseph coming 
they said — 

N. Did he ride in ze cars ? 

A. No, he walked. And when his broth- 
ers saw him coming — 

N. I dess they fought he was a tramp. I 
bet you Carlo would have bited his legs if 
he'd been zere. 

A. No, they knew who he was, but they 
were bad, cruel, wicked men, and they took 
poor Joseph, who was so good, and who 
loved them all so well — 

N. I see a boy climbing our fence ! I dess 
he's goin' to steal our apples. Let's go sic 
Carlo on him. 

A. Poor Joseph, who was only a boy, just 
a little boy, who never did any one any harm ; 



these great rough men seized him with fierce 
looks and angry words, and they were going 
to kill the frightened, helpless little youth, 
who cried and begged them so piteously not 
to hurt him; going to kill their own Httle 
brother — 

N. NeUie Taylor has a little brother Jim, 
an' she says she wishes somebody would 
kill him when he tears off her doll's legs an' 
frows her kittens in ze cistern. 

A. But Joseph's oldest brother pitied the 
little boy when he cried — 

N. I dess he wanted some cake ; I cry 
when I want cake, an' mamma dives me 
some. 

A, And as he wouldn't let them kill him, 
they found a pit — 

N. I like peach pits, an' I know where I 
can find a great lot of *em now. Come along. 

A. No, let's finish the story first. These 
bad men put Joseph in the pit — 

N. Why— Aunt— Dora ! What is you 
talking about ? 

A. About those cruel men who put Joseph 
into the pit — 

N, I dess you mean zey put the pit into 
Joseph. 

A. So there the poor little boy was, all 
alone in this deep, dark hole — - 

N. Why didn't he climb out? 

A. Because he couldn't. The sides of the 
pit were rough, and it v/as very deep, deep as 
a well — 

N. Ding-dong-dell, cat's in 'e well ; oh 
auntie, I know a nice story, 'bout a boy that 
felled into a cistern and climbed out on a 
ladder. 

A. Poor Joseph was sitting in this pit— 

N. Did he have a chair ? 

A. No, he was sitting on the ground, 
wishing — 

N. I wish I was a bumble bee an' could 
stand on my head like a boy, an' have all ?e 
honey I could eat 



390 



DIALOGUES FOR SCHOOLS AND LYCEUMS. 



A. But while Joseph was in the dark pit, 
frightened and crying all alone — 

JV. I bet he was afraid of ghosts ! 

A. While he was wondering if his cruel 
brothers were going to leave him in the dark 
pit, some merchants came along, and Jos- 
eph's brothers took him out of the pit and 
sold him for a slave. Just think of it. Sold 
their little brother to be a slave in a country 
far away from his home, where he would 
have to work hard and where his cruel 
master would beat him ; where — 

iV. What did zey get for him, Aunt Dora? 

A. Twenty pieces of silver, and now — 

iV. Hump, dat was pitty" cheap, but, I spec' 
it was all that he was worth. 

THE POOR LITTLE RICH BOY. 

(Dialogue for two boys.) 

r.RY. (Enters room, tossing J lis hat 
7 table where Roy sits studying^ " I 
tell you, Ra)% I'm sorry for Har- 
old Belmont!" 

Roy. " Sorry for Harold Belmont ! Why, 
I'd like to know ? His father is the richest 
man in town. You know father has been 
working for him ever since we were born." 

Harry. ** Yes, I know; but Harold don't 
have half the nice times v/e do." 

Roy, " Well, I like that. Don't he wear 
nicer clothes every day than we ever had for 
Sunday ?" 

Harry. " Yes, but they're so nice his 
mother won't let him roll on the grass, or 
go wading in the pond, or anything." 

Roy. " Well, did you ever notice what nice 
lemon pie and frosted cake he has in his 
lunch basket ?" 

Harry. " Yes, but he often wants to trade 
lunches with me." 

Roy. " But, Harry, he's got a bicycle !" 

Harry. " He told me yesterday that he 
would rather have a dog like our Rover that 
he could drive to a little wagon like ours," 



Roy. " But only think, Harry, of the hUi,- 
dreds and hundreds of books in his father's 
library that he can read as much as he 
pleases ! Why, if I had them, I'd be the 
happiest boy in the State. I wouldn't waste 
a minute. I know just what books I'd read 
first — Dickens' Child's History of England, 
and—" 

Harry. " O yes, Roy, but then he doesn't 
care for books, like you, nor to be a carpen- 
ter, as I mean to be. He wants to be a 
farmer, and he says his father don't mean to 
let him — wants Harold to be a banker, like 
himself ; but those are not the things I was 
thinking of when I said I was sorry for him." 
Roy, " What was it ?" 
Harry, " Why, you know I made a little 
bird-house out of that cracker-box mother 
gave me; just a common little bird-house, 
without any paint or nice things about it, 
and set it up on a pole in the garden^" 

Roy. " Yes, I know, and two families of 
blue-birds are living in it. What else?" 

Harry, " Well, Harold begged his father 
to let him have a bird-house, and so Mr. 
Belmont got a man to make one — oh, a little 
beauty !— just like a little Swiss chalet, with 
porches and gables, and all painted so nicely, 
white with green trimmings and a dark brown 
roof, and the pole is striped red, white and 
blue, and they put it close to the big maple 
tree on the lawn. Oh, it was so nice I was 
almost ashamed of my poor little unpainted 
house — -only the birds were building in it 
then, and it made me glad to see them so 
busy and happy. Harold was happy, too. 
He sat by the window for hours, watching 
for the birds to come to his bouse. But, 
Roy, none ever came ! They were afraid of 
that beautiful house. I guess the'^r thought 
it was a trap. Harold don't sit by the win- 
dow to watch it any more; that's why I'm 
sorry for him." 

Roy, " Well, that is too bad ; but I don't 



DIALOGUES FOR SCHOOLS AND LYCEUMS. 



391 



know that we can help him. You couldn't 
give him your little house, because it isn't 
fine enough for his father's lawn ; besides, the 
blue-birds might object to moving." 

Harry. " Of course ; but, Roy, don't you 
beheve he'd like to come over here and watch 
our birds feed their little ones ? I never get 
tired of seeing them." 

Roy, " He might. Let's go and ask him." 
[Both boys take their hats and pass out.) 
Mrs. Adrian Kraal. 

COLLOQUY. 

AN ENTIRELY DIFFERENT MATTER. 

Scene. — An office with a desk or table on 
which are an inkstand^ a pile of ledgers 
and some extra sheets of paper. Mr. Pijich- 
e7n, zvith gray wig and. whiskers and spec- 
tacles sits in Jus office busily engaged in 
figuring up his accounts. He does not look 
up fron. his paper ^ but keeps on figuring 
ivhile his clerk enters and takes a seat near 
the table in such a position as to both face 
the audience. 
Clerk. 

iR. Pinchem, I — I — 

Mr. Pinchem. Have you got those 

goods off jfor Kalamazoo? 
Clerk. Yes, sir, they are off. Mr. 

Pinchem, I — 

Mr. P. And about that order for starch ? 
Clerk. That has been attended to, sir. Mr. 

Pinchem — 

Mr. P. And that invoice of tea? 

Clerk. That's all rights sir. Mr. Pinchem, 

I have — 

Mr. P. And that cargo of sugar ? 

Clerk. Taken care of as you directed, sir. 

ivir. Pinchem, I have long — 

Mr. P. What about Bush & Bell's con- 
signment? 

Clerk. Received in good order, sir. Mr. 

Pinchem, I have long wanted— 
I^r P> And that shipii ent to Buffalo ? 




Clerk. All right, sir. Mr. Pinchem, I have 
long wanted to speak to you — 

Mr. P. Ah! speak to me? Why, 
thought you spoke to me fifty times a day. 

Clerk. Yes, sir, I know, but this is a 
private matter. 

Mr. P. Private ? Oh ! Ah ! Wait till I see 
how much we made on the last ten thousand 
pounds of soap — Six times four are twenty^ 
four; six times two are twelve and two to 
carry make fourteen ; six times nought are 
nothing and one to carry makes one ; six 
times five are thirty ; seven times four — ah ! 
well go ahead, I'll finish this afterwards. 

Clerk. Mr. Pinchem, I have been with you 
ten long years. — 

Mr. P. Ten, eh ! Long years, eh ! any 
longer than any others years ? Go ahead. 

Clerk. And I have always tried to do my 
duty, 

Mr. P. Have, eh ? Go on. 

Clerk. And I now make bold — 

Mr. P. Hold on! What is there bold 
about it ? But never mind, I'll hear you out. 

Clerk. Mr. Pinchem I want to ask — ask — 
I want to ask — 

Mr. P. Well, why don't you ask, then ? I 
don't see why you don't ask if you want to. 

Clerk. Mr. Pinchem I want to ask you for 
— for— 

Mr. P. You want to ask me for the han^' 
of my daughter. Ah ! why didn't you speak 
right out? She's yours, my boy, take her 
and be happy. You might have had her 
two years ago if you had mentioned it. Go 
long, now, I'm busy. Seven times six are 
forty-two, seven times five are thirty-five and 
four are thirty-nine, seven times eight — 

Clerk Mr. Pinchem — 

Mr. P. What! You here yet? Well, 
what is it? 

Clerk. I want to ask you for — 

Mr. P. Didn't I give her to you, you 
rascal I 



;92 



DIALOGUES FOR SCHOOLS AND LYCEUMS. 



Clerk. Yes, but what I wanted to ask you 
for was not the hand of your daughter, but a 
raise of salary. 

Mr. P. Oh ! that was it, eh ? Well, sir, 
^.hat is an entirely different matter, and it re- 
quires time for serious thought and earnest 
deliberation. Return to your work. I'll 
think about it, and some time next fall I'll 
see a'^^out giving you a raise of a dollar or so 
a week. Seven times eight are fifty-six and 
three are fifty- nine — 

THE Q0SSIP5. 

Characters. — Mrs. Pry, Mrs. Quick, Mrs. 
Search, Mrs. Gossip. 

Scene. — The Street. Mrs. Pry, Mrs. Search 
a7id Mrs. Quick, meeting. 

Mrs. Pry. 

"AVE you heard any news, neighbor 
Search ? 

Mrs. Search. News? no. I am 
dying to hear some. I have not 
heard a word since last night, and it is now 
almost noon. 

Mrs. Quick. I have heard a piece of news 
as I came along, and you will hardly believe 
it, though I received it from a person of ver- 
acity, who was knowing to the fact, and 
therefore could not mistake. 

Mrs. S. Pray let us have it. I hope it is 
nothing short of an elopement. 

Mrs. P. I hope it is a murder, or, at least, 
a suicide. We have not had any news worth 
mentioning these two months. 

Mrs. Q. It is neither an elopement nor a 
murder, but you may think it something 
akin to the latter. The truth is, there is a 
woman down in the village, and they will 
not allow her to be buried. 

Afrs. S. You don't say so ? 

Mrs. Q. I do. The coroner has positively 
refused to bury her. 

Mrs. P. Do tell! What could the poor 




creature have done to be denied Christian 
burial? 

Mrs. Q. I do not know what the offense 
was, but they say he has his reasons, and 
buried she shall not be. 

Mrs. P. Where is she lying ? I must go 
and inquire into it. Bless me, Mrs. Search, 
how could this happen and we not hear 
of it? 

Mrs. S. Did you hear her name, Mrs. 
Quick? That may give us a clue to the mys- 
tery. 

Mrs. Q. I did not learn her name, though, 
if I forget not, it began with a G, or some 
such letter. But I have a little errand up 
the street, and must leave you. In the mean- 
time as we know so little of the circum- 
stances, it will be prudent not to repeat 
what I have told you. Good morning. 
{She goes out). 

Mrs. P. Did you ever hear anything so 
strange ? One of two things is certain, she 
has either killed herself or been killed, and 
is reserved for examination. 

Mrs. S, I don't understand it so. Mrs. 
Quick seemed to insinuate that she had been 
lying a long time, and was not to be buried 
at all. But here comes Mrs. Gossip, and 
perhaps she can tell us all about it, a« she 
comes fresh from the village. 

Enter Mrs. Gossip. 

Mrs. P. Good morning, Mrs. Gossip. 

Mrs Gossip. Good morning, Mrs. Pry. 
How do you do, Mrs. Search ? 

Mrs. S. Pretty well, I thank you. I.Viw 
do you do? 

Mrs. G. Indifferent, I'm much obliged *;o 
you. I've had a touch of hydrophoby, Ii 
believe they call it or something else. 

Mrs. P. {to Mrs. Search aside). No new 
complaint. She always hated cold water. 
[aloud) How did the dreadful disease affect 
you^ Mrs, G. ? What dog bit you ? 



JIALOGUES FOR SCHOOLS AND LYCEUMS. 



393 



Mrs. G. Dog ! what do you mean by a 
dog ? The disease began with a cold in my 
head, and a sore throat, and — 

Mj's. S. Oh, it was the influenza. 

Mrs. G. So it was; I knew it wa? .ome 
Dutlandish name, and they all sound alike to 
me. For my part, I wish there was no 
foreign words. 

Mrs. P. Mrs. Gossip, did you hear the 
particulars of the dreadful news in the vil- 
lage ? 

Mrs. G, No. What dreadful news? I 
have not heard ?iothing^ good, bad, or indif- 
ferent. 

Mrs. P. What ! haven't you heard of the 
woman in the village that they won't bury ? 

Mrs, G. Not a word. Who is she ? 
What's her name? 

Mrs. S. Her name begins with G, and as 
that begins your name, I hoped you would 
know something about it. 

Mrs. G. Bless me ! I never heard a sylla- 
ble of it ! Why don't they bury the poor 
thing ? I couldn't refuse to bury even a dog. 

Mrs. P, There is a suspicion of murder or 
suicide in the case. 

Mrs. G. Well, they hang murderers and 
suicides, don't they ? What can be the mat- 
ter? There is something very mysterious 
about it ! 

Mrs. S. I am dying to know all about it. 
Come, let's all go down to the village, and 
probe the matter to the bottom. I dearly 
love to get hold of a mystery. 

Mrs. P. I say, let us all go, and here is 
Mrs, Quick coming back. She will go with 
us, for she told us the news, and she is dying 
o learn the particulars. 

Re-enter Mrs. Quick. 

Mrs. Quick. Good morning again, ladies. 
AIL Good morning. 

^■'Trs. G. What was the matter with that air 
. nan that they won't bury in the village? 



Mrs. Q. Nothing is the matter with her. 

Mrs. G. Then, in inarcfs name, why don't 
they bury her ? 

Mrs. Q. I know of but one reason, but that 
is a very important one. 

Mrs. P. We did not know you knew the 
reason they wouldn't bury her. Why did 
you not tell us what it was ? 

Mrs. Q. You did not ask me, and, besides, 
it is somewhat of a secret. 

Mi's. S. You need not fear our disclosing 
it. Pray let us have it. 

Mrs. P. Pray do. I am bursting with 
curiosity. 

Mrs. G. And I too. Mrs. Quick, you say 
there is but one reason why they will not 
bury the woman, and pray what is that? 

Mrs. P. What is it ? 

Mrs. S. Yes, what is it ? 

All [earnestly). What is it ? 

Mrs. Q. She is not dead! 

FARMER HANKS WANTS A DIVORCE. 

(For two males and one female.) 

Characters. — Lawyer Porter; Farmer 
Hanks; Mrs. Hanks. 

Scene. — Lawyer's office. Lawyer Porter 
sitting at desk writing. Knock at door. 

{Enter Farmer Hanks in rustic atttre, look- 
ing hesitatingly around?) 

Farmer Hanks. 

E you the divorce man ? 

Lawyer Porter. (Smilhtg?) Well, 
I don't exactly know that my vo= 
cation lies particularly in that direction, but 
I have been known to undertake such cases. 
Are you in trouble ? 

Far. II. I should rather say so ! It's come 
to jest this 'ere climax that I can't stand it 
nohow, not another day ; an' ef you can't git me 
unspliced, I'll hev to find some one who can. 
Law. P. What are your grounds for com' 
plaint ? 




S94 



DIALOGUES FOR SCHOOLS AND LYCEUMS. 



Far, ff. Grounds! Ordinary grounds 
wouldn't hold 'em ! IVe a hull farm full ! 

Lazu. P. One or two are just as efficient in 
procuring a divorce as a hundred, providing 
'he offence is grave enough. Your wife now, 
.or instance ; I suppose she hasn't fallen in 
love with another man ? 

Far. H, Haw-haw ! That's a good 'un ! 
Betsey in love with another feller ! Wal, 
hardly, mister ! Betsey isn't no fool. You 
can bet high on that ! 

Law. P. Of course that was a suppositional 
case, merely. Is she a scandal-monger ? 

Far. H. Scandal-monger ? Not much ; ef 
ever a woman knew how to hold her tongue 
when other folks's is a-waggin', that's Betsey 
every time. 

Law. P. Cruel to her children, possibly ? 

Far. H. I swow, I'll begin to take you fer 
the fool, mister. Our children is growed up 
an' in homes of the'r own, years back; an' 
ez fer gran'children, ef ever an old woman 
made an idjit of herself over babies, it's 
Betsey with them thar youngsters. She jest 
sp'iles them no end, an' thar's nobudy they 
sets such store by as gran'ma. You hain't 
on the right track, by long odds. 

Law. P. Evidently not. Suppose now, as 
my time is valuable, we reverse the case, and 
you enlighten me as to the cause of your 
unhappiness, instead of ray wasting the min- 
utes in making conjectures ? Perhaps incom- 
patibility of temper may cover the ground. 

Far. PL In — com — what kind of temper ? 
You beat me with them long words o' yourn ; 
but, mebbe you've struck it, this time. Thar's 
lo use talking, but Betsey's that aggervatin', 
she riles me so it seems like as though I'd 
bu'st! Ef she'd ever say a word I could 
stand it; but she's that mum you can't get a 
word out o' her edgewise; you'd say, forsar- 
tain, thet she'd b'en born deaf, an' without a 
tongue in her mouth. 

Law, H, A woman and dumb? Ye gods! 



This is a reversal of the laws of nature with 
a vengeance ! Do you mean for me to un- 
derstand that your wife never speaks ? How 
can she conduct her household ? 

Far. PL Oh, she's chipper enough wh^n 
things goes to suit ; but when I'm r'iled, an' 
dyin' to see the fur fly — to hev it out with 
some one — then she's mummer than the side 
o' a house ; ye couldn't git a word out o' her 
then with a pair o' oxen ! Ef she'd only spf 
it out, too, an' hev a good out en out,settlin' 
o' matters, 'twould clear the air like a thun- 
der-storm ; but thet's exactly whar the pinch 
comes. I might r'are an' tear, an' pull the 
house down over our heads, fer all the good 
'twould do — thet woman would set as calm 
es a cucumber, or go about her chores, an' 
you'd never guess she knew I was within a 
hundred miles o' her ! Either she hain't got 
an atom o' sense in her git up, or else she's 
too dumb to show it at sech times. It's 
enough to drive a man into fits, an* I can't 
go it no longer. It's either her or me that's 
got to git out ! I'm willin' to do my duty to 
the letter, an' give her a share in the old 
farm. I wouldn't see her want for nothin', 
fer in spite o' her tongue— 

Law. P. I rather think you mean her want 
of tongue ! 

Far. H. Jest so ! There isn't a kinder or 
willin'er woman in the section. 

Law. P. Suppose, now, that we sum up : 
your wife, according to your statements, is a 
good, pure woman — 

Far. H. That she is, lawyer ! I'd like to 
hear any one say a thing against Betsey's 
character ! I'd choke the life out ov him ! 

Law. P. Fond of her children and grand- 
children; don't gossip; domestic in her tastes 
— Does she keep your house in order, your 
clothes mended, your wants all attended to, 
and give you your meals on time ! 

Far. H. Why, of course ! Thet's what a 
wife's fer, isn't she ? What a question to ax! 



DIALOGUES FOR SCHOOLS AND LYCEUMS. 



395 



Law. F, You acknowledge all this. Now, 
supposing, on the contrary, that your wife 
was a shrew. 

Far. H. [Bewildered^ A which ? 

Law. F. A cross, scolding woman ; a 
woman who left her own fireside to gossip 
and make scandal among her neighbors ; who 
neglected her home ; who got your meals at 
all or no times and let you look out for your- 
self; who abused the little children around 
her; who — 

Far. H. Stop, mister ! Betsey coiddrCt do 
lone o' them things. Why, you'd make her 
out a pretty sort o' critter for me to hev been 
livin' with these forty years ! 

Law. P. No, Betsey couldn't do all or any 
of these things. From your own story you 
have a saint instead of an ordinary woman 
for a wife ; a being who knows that essence of 
all true happiness — how to hold her tongue; 
who, instead of lowering herself to petty 
quarrels and commonplace bickerings, keeps 
her temper within bounds while you are pur- 
posely doing all you possibly can to aggra- 
vate her — to make her dislike you — to — 

Far. H. {Shamefacedly.) Sho ! You air 
trying to make out a purty strong case 
igainst me, ain't you now ? I never looked 
at it in jest that light before, an* you can't tell 
how a few words now an' then would splice 
up things in general. 

Lazv. P. If your wife were to come to me 
^vid demand a divorce, after what you have 
told me, I should be strongly tempted to take 
»ip her case. 

Far. H. Betsey git a divorce from me! 
Thet's the best yet ! Well, I should as soon 
think o' the sky falling. {Knock at door^ , 
voice outside asking if Lawyer Porter is in.) 
I'll be everlastin'ly simmered, ef thet don't 
sound like Betsey's voice this actual minute ! 
Whar'U I go? I don't want to be found 
around these parts ; but, what in the name o' 



conscience kin she want with 



^ou, now ? 



{Glares at the lawyer ^ who takes him by the 
shoulder and leads him up to closet door or be- 
hind a screen^ 

Law. P. Step into this cover, and be quick 
about it. You'll soon ascertain what your 
wife wants of me. And remember, this is a 
private interview which you are not to inter- 
rupt (Farmer Hanks disappears, and the 
lawyer goes to door.) 

{Enter Mrs Hanks, hesitatingly^ 

Law. P. Good morning, madame ! What 
can I do for you ? Let me give you a chair. 
{Seats her with back to closet or screen. Far- 
mer H. pokes his head out.) 

Far. H. I'll be durned but it is Betsey ! 
{Comes half out into room, but Lawyer P. 
scowls and motions him back. Mrs. Hanks 
sits silent.) 

Law. P. {Kindly^ Well, madame, you 
want — 

Mrs. Hanks. {In a half whisper') I want, 
or I guess I want a bill of divorce. (Farmer 
Wk^y:.^^ face pops out again, with a7t expres- 
sion of bewilderment and horror upon it) 

Law. P. Your husband is addicted to the 
excessive use of liquor, maybe ? (Farmer 
H. shakes his fist at the lawyer) 

Mrs. H. Good gracious, no ! Samuel 
never took too much liquor in his life, to my 
knowledge. 

Law. P. Then, perhaps, he is violent, and 
cruel to you and the children ? 

Mrs. H. Mercy, no ! Whatever made you 
think of sech a thing! Samuel wouldn't 
hurt a fly ; he's the softest-hearted man in the 
world ; it isn't that — it's only — only — ^ 

Law. P. Well, you must try to tell me 
your difficulty, or I will be unable to help 
you. 

Mrs. H. {Bursting into tears.) It's so hard 
to tell, yet it's so hard to bear. It seems jest 
as if I'd go wild ef I had it to stand another 
day. Yet except fer this one thing Samuel's 



396 



DIALOGUES FOR SCHOOLS AND LYCEUMS. 



the best husband a woman could ask fer. He 
is perfect temperate in all his habits, liberal 
an' open-handed as the day is long, an' as 
kind an' considerate as any one could wish 
fer. (Farmer H. looks out at the lawyer ex- 
ultingly. ) B u t — b u t — 

Law. P. But what ? 

Mrs. H. Oh, those dreadjiU tantrums of 
his'n ! They come on without any apparent 
reason at all, an' he's like to a crazy man. 

La,w. P, And you oppose him and aggra- 
vate him when he gets in these moods, pos- 
sibly? 

Mrs. H. iSadly.) Oh, no! What good 
would that do? or rather, what harm wouldn't 
it do ? I jest stand them as best I may, an' 
pray the Good Power above for strength to 
hold my tongue, an' bear the affliction which 
he has seen fit to visit me with. (Farmer H. 
looks out again with an incredulous^ shame- 
faced expressioft, and seems about to speak ^ but 
the lawyer motions him back) 

Law. P. And you say absolutely nothing? 

Mrs. H. I never hev given way to my 
tongue yet ; ef I once shoidd, or to the feelin' 
that he rouses in me at sech times, I almost 
think I should strike him. (Farmer H. again 
advances, but is motioned back) 

Law. P. Wouldn't that serve him right ? 

Mrs. H. {Surprised) Strike Samuel ? I'd 
never forgive myself ef I did. Yet, it is so 
hard ; you can't tell ! It really seems as ef 
the harder I tried to hold my tongue an' keep 
the peace, the worse he got, until sometimes 
I 'most think he'd like to kill me ! 
• Law. P. Oh, surely not ! His wicked tem- 
per would not, or could not, carry itself to 
such an extent against such an angel of peace. 
But, I cannot find words to express my opin- 
ion of such a brute. I cannot find strong 
enough terms to convey my condemnation. 
A man who will seek willfully to quarrel with 
a wife who is gentleness and meekness itself, 
to say nothing of the other cardinal virtues, 



is a selfish heartless piece of humanity, un- 
worthy of the name of man, and deserves 
nothing better than the public whipping-post, 
which, unhappily — 

Mrs. H. Stop! I will not allow you to 
speak of Samuel in such a manner ! He may 
hev his little faults as all men do — 

Far. H. (Rushing out). Yes, let him say 
every durned thing he kin of me, Betsey ! I 
deserve it all, an' a hundred times more— 
(Mi's. Hanks gives a scream and almost sinks 
to the floor ^ but her husband catches her) — 
when I think of what a howlin' idjit I've b'en 
all these years. The whippin'-post ain't half 
severe enough. 

Mrs. H. Oh, you never was that, Samuel ! 

Far. H. Yes I was, an' be, up to this very 
minute; but I be goin' to make a clean 
breast of it or bu'st. Here I hev b'en thinkin' 
an' sayin' that you didn't quarrel with me 
nor answer me back, because ye didn't know 
enough' — 

Mrs. H. Oh, Samuel, how could you ? 

Far. H. An' thet you was a perfect fool, 
with no spunk in ye, an' here youVe b'en 
with the spunk all bottled up, an' never 
darin' to let her loose for fear o' makin' me 
wuss, an' doin' wrong yourself! Oh ! I'm 
the wickedest kind of a sinner, Betsey. 
[Groans). I don't wonder you want to git a 
bill ag'inst me; an' this here lawyer'll be 
sure to git ye one, as he sees you deserve it 
fast enough, an' I don't blame neither o' ye. 

Mrs. H. But I don't want it, Samuel. Now 
you see jest how it is, an' that I never al- 
lowed to r'ile you, I'm sure 'twill all be right. 
{Turning to Lawyer P). An' you won't let 
what I've said turn you ag'inst him, A^illyou ? 
You can see for yourself that he never could 
hev meant it. 

Law. P. And he never was such a man as 
he proves at this very time when he humbles 
himself to confess how wrong he has been, 
and acknowledges the true worth of his de 



DIALOGUES FOR SCHOOLS AND LYCEUMS. 



897 



voted wife whom he has so long misjudged 
or misunderstood. 

Far. H. YouVe right thar, Lawyer Porter. 
I can't find the words to tell what a blamed 
fool I've been ; yet, ef you'll believe it, I feel 
lighter o' heart this blessed minute than I 
hev in a month o' Sundays before. An' to 
think that an hour ago I was actually hank- 
erin' after a bill ag'in ye, Betsey ! I don't de- 
sarve ye should forgive me, like this, but I 
give ye my word o' honor that the next time 
a tantrum strikes me 1 11 hev it out down in 
the meddar with that old Jersey bull o' mine. 
{Curtain falls) 

TAKING THE CENSUS. 
Characters : 

Inquisitor. A Patient Man, with pen, ink and a 
targe sheet of paper, engaged in taking the census. 

Mrs. Touchwood. An old lady in frilled cap and 
set-sprig apron, engaged in giving it. 

Scene. — A house in the country. Mrs. Touchwood 
at a wash-tub hard at work. 

Enter Inquisitor. 
Inquisitor. 

r)D morning, madam. Is the head 
of the family at home ? 
Mrs, Touchwood. Yes, sir, Pm 
at home, 
Inq. Haven't you a husband ? 
Mrs. T. Yes, sir, but he ain't the head of 
the family, I'd have you to know. 

Inq. How many persons have you in your 
family^? 

Mrs. T. Why, bless me, sir, what's that to 
you ? You're m.ighty inquisitive, I think. 
Inq. I'm the man that takes the census. 
Mrs. T. If you was a man in your senses 
vou wouldn't ask such impertinent questions. 
2nq. Don't be offended, old lady, /jut an- 
wer my questions as I ask them. 

Mrs. T. " Answer a fool according to his 
folly ! " — you know what the Scripture says. 
Old lady, indeed ! 



Inq. Beg your pardon, madam ; but I don't 
care about hearing Scripture just at this mo- 
ment. I'm bound to go according to law and 
not according to gospel. 

Mrs. T. I should think you went neither 
according to law nor gospel. What business 
is it to you to inquire into folks' affairs, Mr. 
Thingumbob ? 

Inq. The law makes it my business, good 
woman, and if you don't want to expose 
yourself to its penalties, you must answer 
my questions. 

Mrs. 7. Oh, it's the law, is it ? That alters 
the case. But I should like to know what 
the law has to do with other people's house- 
hold matters ? 

Inq. Why, Congress made the law, and if 
it don't please you, you must talk to them 
about it. 

Mrs. T. Talk to a fiddle-stick ! Why, Con^ 
gress is a fool, and you're another. 

Inq. Now, good lady, you're a fine, good- 
looking woman ; if you'll give me a few civil 
answers I'll thank you. What I wish to 
know first is, how many are there in your 
family ? 

Mi's. T. Let me see \counting on her fin- 
gers'] ; there's I and my husband is one 

Inq. Two, you mean. 

Mrs. T. Don't put me out, now, Mr. 
Thinkummy. There's I and my husband is 

one 

Inq. Are you always one ? 

Mrs. T. What's that to you, I should like 

to know. But I tell you, if you don't leave 

off interrupting me I won't say another word. 

Inq. Well, take your own way, and be 

hanged to you. 

Mrs. T. I will take my own way, and no 
thanks to you. \_Again counting her fingers. ^ 
There's I and my husband is one ; there's 
John, he's two; Peter is three. Sue and Moll 
are four, and Thomas is five. And then 
there's Mr. Jenkins and his wife and the two 



39S 



DIALOGUES FOR SCHOOLS AND LYCEUMS. 



children is six ; and there's Jowler, he's 
seven. 

Inq. Jowler ! Who's he ? 

Mrs. T. Who's Jowler ! Why, who should 
he be but the old house dog ? 

Inq. It's the number of persons I want to 

' iOW. 

xl'Irs. T. Very well, Mr. Flippergin, ain't 
Jowler a person ? Come here, Jowler, and 
speak for yourself I'm sure he's as person- 
able a dog as there is in the whole State. 

hiq. He's a very clever dog, no doubt. 
But it's the number of human beings I want 
to know. 

Mrs. T. Human ! There ain't a more hu- 
man dog that ever breathed. 

Inq. Well, but I mean the two-legged kind 
of beings. 

Mrs. T. Oh, the two-legged, is it ? Well, 
then, there's the old rooster, he's seven ; the 
fighting-cock is eight, and the bantam is 
nine 

Inq. Stop, stop, good woman, I don't want 
to know the number of your fowls. 

Mrs. T. I'm very sorry indeed, I can't 
please you, such a sweet gentleman as you 
are. But didn't you *^ell me — 'twas the two- 
legged beings 

Inq. True, but I didn't mean the hens. 

Mrs. T. Oh, now I understand you. The 
old gobbler, he's seven, the hen turkey is 
eight ; and if you'll wait a week there'll be a 
parcel of young ones, for the old hen turkey 
is setting on a whole snarl of eggs. 

Inq. Blast your turkeys ! 

Mrs. T. Oh, don't now, good Mr. Hipper- 
!3titcher, I pray you don't. They're as honest 
turkeys as any in the country. 

Inq. Don't vex me any more. I'm getting 
to be angry. 

Mrs. T. Ha! ha! ha! 

Inq. [striding about the room in a rage.'] 
Have a care, madam, or I shall fly out of my 
skin. 



Mrs T. If you do, I don't know who will 
fly in. 

Inq. You do all you can to anger me. It's 
the two-legged creatures who talk I have re- 
ference to. 

Mrs. T. Oh, now I understand you. Well 
then, our Poll Parrot makes seven and Hi^ 
black gal eight. 

Inq. I see you will have your own way. 

Mrs. T. You have just found out, have 
you ! You are a smart little man 1 

Inq. Have you mentioned the whole of 
your family ? 

Mrs. T. Yes, that's the whole— except the 
wooden-headed man in front. 

Inq. Wooden-headed ? 

Mrs. T. Yes, the schoolmaster what's board- 
ing here. 

Inq. I suppose if he has a wooden head he 
lives without eating, and therefore must be 
a profitable boarder. 

Mrs. T. Oh, no, sir, you are mistaken 
there. He eats like a leather judgment. 

Inq. How many servants are there in the 
family ? 

Mrs. T. Servants ! Why, there's no ser- 
vants but me and my husband. 

Lzq. What makes you and your husband 
servants ? 

Mrs. T. I'm a servant to hard work, and 
he is a servant to rum. He does nothing all 
day but guzzle, guzzle, guzzle ; while I'm 
working, and stewing, and sweating from 
morning till night, and from night till morn- 
ing. 

Inq. How many colored persons have you ? 

Mrs. T. There's nobody but Dinah, th' 
black girl, Poll Parrot and my daughter Sue. 

Inq. Is your daughter a colored girl ? 

Mrs. T. I guess you'd think so if you was 
to see her« She's always out in the sun — 
and she's tanned up as black as an Indian. 

Inq. How many white males are there in 
your family under ten years of age? 



DIALOGUES FOR SCHOOLS AND LYCEUMS. 



S99 



Mrs. T. Why, there ain't none now ; my 
husband don't carry the mail since he's taken 
to drink so bad. He used to carry two, but 
they wasn't white. 

Inq. You mistake, good woman ; I meant 
mile folks, not leather mails. 

Mrs, T. Let me see ; there^s n3ne except 
little Thomas, and Mr. Jenkins' two little 
girls. 

Inq. Males, I said, madam, not females. 

Mrs. T. Well, if you don't like them, you 
may leave them off. 

Ltq. How many white males are there be- 
tween ten and twenty ? 

Mrs. T. Why, there's nobody but John and 
P^ter, and John ran away last week. 

Inq, How many white males are there be- 
tween twenty and thirty ? 

Mrs. T. Let me see — there's the wooden- 
headed man is one, Mr. Jenkins and his wife 
is two, and the black girl is three. 

Inq. No more of your nonsense, old lady; 
Fm heartily tired of it. 

Mrs. T, Hoity toity! Haven't I a right 
to talk as I please in my own house ? 

Inq. You must answer the questions as I 
put them. 

Mrs. T. " Answer a fool according to his 
folly" — you're right, Mr. Hippogriff. 

Inq. How many white males are there be- 
tween thirty and forty ? 

Mrs. T. Why, there's nobody but I and 
my husband — and he was forty-one last 
March. 

Inq. As you count yourself among the 
^vv.les, I dare say you wear the breeches. 

Lifts. T. Well, what if I do, Mr. Imperti- 
n(;nce ? Is that anything to you? Mind 
your own business, if you please. 
' Inq. Certainly — I did but speak. How 
many white males are there between forty 
and fifty ? 

Mrs. T. None. 

Inq. How many between fifty and sixty ? 



Mrs. T. None. 

Inq. Are there any between this and a 
hundred ? 

Mrs. T. None except the old gentleman. 
Inq. What old gentleman ? You haven't 
mentioned any before. 

Mrs. T. Why, gramther Grayling — I 
thought everybody knew gramther Graylinf 
— he's a hundred and two years old nexv 
August, if he lives so long — and I dare say 
he will, for he's got the dry wilt, and they 
say such folks never dies. 

Inq. Now give the number of deaf and 
dumb persons. 

Mrs. T. Why, there is no deaf persons, 
excepting husband, and he ain't so deaf as 
he pretends to be. When anybody axes him 
to take a drink of rum, if it's only in a whis- 
per, he can hear quick enougho But if I 
tell him to fetch an armful of wood or feed 
the pigs or tend the griddle, he's as deaf as 
a horse-block. 

Inq. How many dumb persons ? 

Mrs. T. Dumb ! Why, there's no dumb 
body in the house, except the wooden-headed 
man, and he never speaks unless he's spoken 
to. To be sure, my husband wishes I was 
dumb, but he can't make it out. 

Inq. Are there any manufactures carried 
on here ? 

Mrs. T. None to speak on, except turnip 
sausages and tow cloth. 

Ltq. Turnip -sausages ! 

Ivlrs. T. Yes, turnip-sausages. Is there 
anything so wonderful in that? 

Inq. I never heard of them before. What 
kind of machinery is used in making 
them ? 

Mrs. T. Nothing but a bread-trough, a 
chopping-knife and a sausage filler. 

htq. Are they made of clear turnips ? 

Mrs. T. Now you're terrible inquisitive. 
What would you give to know ? 

Inq. I'll give you the name of being the 



400 



DIALOGUES FOR SCHOOLS AND LYCEUMS. 



most communicative and pleasant woman 
I've met v^ith for the last half-hour. 

Mrs. T. Well, now, you're a sweet gentle- 
man, and I must gratify you. You must 
know we mix with the turnip a little red 
cloth, just enough to give them a color, so 
they needn't look as if they were made of 
clear fat meat ; then we chop them up well 
together, put in a little sage, summer savory, 
and black pepper ; and they make as pretty 
little delicate links as ever was set on a gen- 
tleman's table ; they fetch the highest price 
in the market. 

Inq. Indeed! Have you a piano in the 
house ? 

Mrs. T. A piany! What's that? 

Inq. A musical instrument. 

Mrs. T. Lor, no. But Sary Jane, down at 
the Corners, has one — you see. Sary got all 
highfalutin about the great Colushun down 
So Bosting, and down she went ; an' when 
she came back the old man got no rest until 
she had one of the big square music boxes 
with white teeth — 'spose that's what you call 
a piany. 

Inq. You seem to know what it is, then. 

Mrs. T. Yes, sir. Have you anything 
more to ax ? 

Inq. Nothing more. Good morning, mad- 
am. 

Mrs. T. Stop a moment ; can't you think 
/ something else ? Do now, that's a good 
/lan. Wouldn't you like to knov/ what we're 
a-going to have for dinner ; or how many 
chickens our old white hen hatched at her 
last brood ; or how many — 

Inq. Nothing more — nothing more. 

Mrs. T. Here, just look in the cupboard, 
and see how many red ants there are in the 
sugar-bowl ; I haven't time to count them 
myself 

Inq. Confound your ants and all your re- 
lations. 

[Exit in a huff. 




ELDER SNIFFLES' COURTSHn 

Characters, 

Widow Bedott, | ^^ Character. 

Elder Sniffles, J 

Tlie widow retires to the grove in the rear of 
Elder Sniffles' house^ sits down on a log 
and sings in a plaintive voice. 

Widow Bedott. 

HAT peaceful hours I once enjoyed, 
All on a summer's day ! 
But O, my comfort was destroyed. 
When Shadrack crossed my way ! 

I heerd him preach — I heerd him pray— 

I heerd him sweetly sing ; 
Dear suz ! how I did feel that day ! 

It was a drefful thing ! 

Full forty dollars would I give 

If we'd continnerd apart — 
For though he's made my sperrit live 

He's surely bust my heart ! 

She sighs profoundly , and the Elder advances, 
unexpectedly. 

W. B. Good gracious ! is that you, Elder 
Sniffles ! how you did scare me ! Never was 
so flustrated in all the days o' my life ! 
hadn't the remotest idee o' meeting j^^ here 
— would't a come for forty dollars if I'd a 
s'posed you ever meander'd here. I never 
was here afore—but was settin' by my winder 
and I cast my eyes over here, and as I ob- 
served the lofty trees a wavin' in the gentle 
blast, and heerd the feathered songsters a 
wobbhn' their mellancolly music, I felt quite 
a call to come over; it's so retired and mo- 
rantic — such an approbriate place to marvel 
round in, ye know, when a body feels low- 
sperrited and unconsolable, as I dei v to-night 
O, d-e-a-r! 

E. S. Most worthy Mrs. Bedott, your evi- 
dent depression fills me with unmitigated 
sympathy. Your feelings (if I may be per- 
mitted to judge from the language of vour 
'iong, which I overheard) 



DIALOGUES FOR SCHOOLS AND LYCEUMS. 



401 



JV. B. You didn't though, Elder! the 
drefful suz ! what shall I dew ! I wouldn't a 
had you heerd that song for no money ! I 
wish I hadn't a come ! I wish to gracious I 
hadn't a come ! 

E. S, I assure you, Mrs. Bedott, it was 
unintentional on my part, entirely uninten- 
tional, but my contiguity to yourself and 
your proximity to me were such as ren- 
dered it impossible for me to avoid hearing 
you — ■ 

W, B, Well, it can't be helped now; it's 
no use crying for spilt milk, but I wouldn't 
have you to think I know'd you ever came 
here. 

E. S. On the contrary, this grove is a 
favorite resort of mine ; it affords a congenial 
retreat after the exterminating and tremen- 
dous mental labors of the day. I not un- 
frequently spend the declining hours of the 
evening here, buried in the most profound 
meditations. On your entrance I was occu- 
pying my customary seat beneath that um- 
brageous mounting ash which you perceive 
a few feet from you ; indeed, had not your 
mind been much pre-occupied you could 
scarcely have avoided discovering m.e. 

W. B. Oh, granPther grievous ! I wish 
I'd staid to hum ! I was born for misfortin' 
and nothin' else ! I wish to massy I'd staid 
to hum to-night ! but I felt as if I'd like to 
come here once afore I leave the place. \_She 
zueeps.~\ 

E. S. Ah ! indeed ! do you project leav- 
ing Scrabble Hill? 

W. B. Yes, I dew ; I calklate to go next 
week. I must hear you preach once more — 
once more. Elder, and then I'm gwine — some- 
where — I don't care where, nor I don't care 
what becomes o' me when I git there. \_Ske 
sobs violently.'] 

E. S. O, Mrs. Bedott, you distress me be- 
yond limitation — permit me to inquire the 
cause of this uncontrollable agony ? 
(26--X) 



IV. B, O, Elder Sniffles, you're the last 
indiwidual that ought to ax such a question. 
O, I shall die ! I shall give it up ! 

E. S, Madame, my interest in your wel- 
fare is intense ; allow me to entreat you still 
more vehemently to unburden your mind ; 
perhaps it is in my power to relieve you. 

W. B. Relieve me ! what an idee ! O, 
Elder, you will be the death o' me if you 
make me revulge my feelings so. An hour 
ago I felt as if I'd a died afore I'd a said what 
I hev said now, but you've draw'd it out o' 
me. 

E. S. Respected madame, you have as yet 
promulgated nothing satisfactory; permit 
me 

W. B. O, granf^ther grievous ! must I 
come to't ? Well, then, if I must, I must, 
so to begin at the beginnin'. Whr;n I fust 
heern you preach, your sarmons onsettled 
my faith ; but after a spell I was convinced 
by yer argefyin', and gin up my 'roneus no- 
tions, and my mind got considerably carm. 
But how could I set Sabberday after Sabber- 
day under the droppin's o' yer voice, and not 
begin to feel a mor'n ordinary interest in the 
speaker? I indevored not tew, but I couldn't 
help it ; 'twas in vain to struggle against the 
feelin's that prepossest my buzzom. But it's 
all over with me now! my felicitude is at an 
end ! my sittiwation is hopeless ! I shall go 
back to Wiggleton next week, and neve/ 
truble you no more. ' 

E. S. Ah, Mrs. Bedott, you alarm— ^ — 

VV. B. Yes, you never'll see no more truble 
with Prissilly. I'm agwine back to Wiggle- 
ton. Can't bear to go back thar, nother, on' 
account o' the indiwidduals that I come 
away to git rid of. There's Cappen Canoot, 
he's always been after me ever since mi' hus- 
band died, though I hain't never gin hnii no 
incurridgement — but he won't take no for an 
answer. I dread the critter's attentions. And 
'Squire Bailey — he's wonderful rich — but that 



m 



DIALOGUES FOR SCHOOLS AND LYCln/MS. 



ain't no recommendation to me, and I've told 
him so time and agin, but I s'pose he thinks 
I'll come round bumby. And Deacon Crosby, 
he lost his partner a spell afore I come away ; 
he was very much pleased with me ; he's a 
wonderful fine man — -make a fust-rate hus- 
band. I kind o' hesitated when he promul- 
'gated his sentiments tew me, told him I'd 
think on't till I cum back — -s'pose he'll be at 
me as soon as I git there. I hate to disap- 
point Deacon Crosby, he's such a fine man, 
and my dezeased companion sot so much by 
him, but then I don't feel for him as 1 dew 

for . He's a Presbyterian, tew, and I 

don't think 'twould be right to unite my des- 
tination to hisen. 

E. S. Undoubtedly in your present state 
of feeling, the uncongeniality would render a 
union 

W. B. O, dear, dear, dear ! I can't bear to 
go back there and indure their attentions, 
but, thank fortune, they won't bother me long 
— I shall go into a decline, I know I shall, as 
well as I want to know it. My trubles '11 
soon be over — undoubtedly they'll put up a 
monnyment to my memory — I've got the 
description all ready for it — it says • 

Here sleeps Prissilly P. Bedott, 

Late relic of Hezekier, 
How mellancolly v/as her lot ! 

How soon she did expire ! 

She didn't comm.i; self-suicide, 
'Twas tribbilation killed her; 

O, what a pity she hadn't a died 
Afore she saw the elder ! 

And O, Elder, you'll visit my grave, won't 
ye, and shed tew or three tears over it ? 
'Tvvould be a consolation tew me tew think 
jyou would. 

E. S. In case I should ever have occasion 
to journey through that section of the coun- 
try, and could consistently with my arrange- 
ments make it convenient to tarry for a short 



time at Wiggleton, I assure you it would 
afford me much plea.^ure to visit your grave, 
agreeably to your request. 

W. B. O, Elder, how onfeelin' ! 

E. S. Unfeeling! did I not understand you 
correctly when I understood you to request 
me to visit your grave ? 

W. B. Yes, but I don't see how you could 
be so carm, when I'm talkin' about dyin'. 

E. S. I assure you, Mrs. Bedott, I had not 
the slightest intentior- of manifesting a want 
of feeling in my ren;ark. I should "egard 
your demise as a most deplorable event, and 
it would afford me no small degree of satis- 
faction to prevent so melancholy a catastrophe 
were it in my power. 

W. B. V/ell, I gues? I'll go hum. If Sally 
should know you was here a taUkin' with me, 
she'd make an awful fuss. 

E. S. Indeed I see no reason to fear that 
my domestic should mterfere in any of my 
proceedings, 

W. B. O, lawful sakes ! how numb you i 
be, elder! I didn't aUude to Sal Blake — I I 
meant Sal Hugle. She't you're ingaged 
tew. 

E. S, Engaged to Miss Hugle ! You alarm 
me, Mrs. Be 

W. B. Now don't undertake to deny it. 
Elder; everybody says it's a fact. 

E. S. Well, then, it only remains for me 
to assert that everybody is laboring under an 
entire and unmitigated mistake. 

W. B, You don't sjy so, Elder! Well, I 
declare, I do feel relieved. I couldn't endure 
the idea o' stayin' here to see that match ^o 
off. She's so onworthy — so different from 
what your companion had ort to be — and 
so lazy — and makes such awful poitry; and 
then she hain't worth a cent in the world. 
But I don't want to say a word against her; 
for, if you ain't ingaged now, mabby you 
will be. O, Elder ! proinise me, dew promise 
me now 't you won'f' marry that critter. 



DIALOGUES FOR SCTTOO^*^ AND LYCEUMS. 



40S 



'Twould be a consolation to me when I'm 
far away on my dyin' bed to know — \_She 
weeps with rcneived energy^ O, Elder, Fm 
afeared I'm a gvvine to have the highsterics. 
I'm subjick to spasmotic affections when I'm 
excited and overcome. 

E. S. You alarm me, Jvlrs. Bedott! I will 
hasten to the house and bring* ti^e sal volatile, 
which may restore you. 

W. B. For the land's sake, Elder, don't 
go after Sal; she can't dew nothin' for me. 
It'll only make talk, for she'll tell it all round 
the village. Jest take that ar newspaper that 
sticks out o' yer pocket, and fan me with it 
a leetle. There, I feel quite resusticated. 
I'm obliged tew ye ; guess I can manage to 
get hum now. \_SIie rises.'] Farwell, Elder 
Sniffles! adoo! we part to meet no more! 

E. S. Ah, Mrs. Bedott ! do not speak in 
that mournful strain; you distress me beyond 
all mitigation. [He takes her hand.'\ Pray 
reseat yourself, and allow me to prolong the 
conversation for a short period. As I before 
observed, your language distresses me be- 
yond all duration. 

W. B. Dew you actually feel distressed at 
the idee o* partin' with me ? 

E. S. Most indubitably, Mrs. Bedott. 

W. B. Well, then, what's the use o' partin' 
at all? Oj what have I said? what have I 
said ? 

E. S. Ahem — ahaw, allow me to inquire 
—are you in easy circumstances, Mrs. 
Bedott? 

W. B. Well, not entirely yet, though I 
feel considerable easier'n what I did an hour 
ago. 

E. S. Ahem! I imagine that you do not 
fully apprehend my meaning. I am a clergy- 
man, a laborer in the vineyard of the Lord — as 
such you will readily understand I cannot be 
supposed to abound in the filthy lucre of 
this world; my remuneration is small — 
hence 



W. B. O, Elder, how can you s'pose I'd 
hesitate on account o' your bein' poor? 
Don't think on't— it only increases my opinion 
of you ; money ain'^ no objick to me. 

E, S. I naturally infer from your indiffer- 
ence respecti.iig the amount of my worldly 
possessions that you yourself have 

W. B. Don't be oneasy, Elder, dear — 
don't illude tew it again ; depend on't you're 
jest as dear tew me, every bit and grain, as 
you would be if you owned all the mines in 
Ingy. 

E. S. I will say no more about it. 

W. B. So I s'pose we're ingaged. 

E. S. Undoubtedly. 

W. B. We're ingaged, and my tribbilation 
is at an end. [Her head drops on his shoul- 
der.'] O, Shadrack! what will Hugelina say 
when she hears on't ? 

Francis M. Whitcher. 

THE MATRIMONIAL ADVERTISEMENT. 

Characters. — Mary Cole ; Grandmother 
Cole, who is very deaf ; Jack Cole; Aunt 
Martha Gordon; Cyrus Gordon. 

Scene I. — The sitting-room of the Cojje. family. 
Mary reading a nezvspaper. Grandmo- 
ther Cole knitting. Aunt Martha cro- 
cheting. Jack playing with the balls in 
Aunt Martha's work-basket. 

Mary Cole. 

H, Aunt Martha! only hear this ! it's 
in the Chronicle. What a splendid 
chance ! I declare, I've a great 
mind to answer it myself! 

Aunt M. What have you got hold of now ? 
You're allez a-making some powerful dis- 
kivery somewheres. What now ? Some- 
thing to turn gray eyes black, and blue eyes 
gray? 

Mary. No; it's a matrimonicl advertise- 
ment. What a splendid fellow xhls " C. G " 
must be ! 




*04 



DIALOGUES FOR SCHOOLS AND LYCEUMS. 



Aii/u M. Oh, shaw! A body must be 
dreadfully put to it, to advertise for a pardner 
in the newspapers. Thank goodness ! I never 
cfot in such a strait as that 'er. The Lord 
Has marcy fully kept me thus fur from hav- 
ing any dealings with the male sect, and I 
[rust I shall be presarved to the end. 

Jack Cole. Didn't you ever have an offer, 
Aunt Mattie? 

Aunt M. {indignantly.) Why, Jack Cole ! 
What an idee ! I've had more chances to 
change my condition than you've got fingers 
and toes. But I refused 'em all. A single 
life is the only way to be happy. But it did 
kinder hurt my feelings to send some of my 
sparks adrift — they took it so hard. There 
was Colonel Turner. He lost his wife in 
June, and the last of August he come over 
to our 'ouse, and I gave him to understand 
that he needn't trouble himself; and he felt 
so mad that he went rite off and married the 
Widder Hopkins afore the month was out. 

Jack. Poor fellow [ How he must have 
felt! And, Aunt Mattie, I notice that Deacon 
Goodrich looks at you a great deal in meet- 
ing, since you've got that pink feather on 
your bonnet. Wha^ if he 'should want you 
to be a mother to his ten little ones ? 

Aunt M. [simpering). Law, Jack Cole ! 
What a dreadful boy you be ! [pincJies his 
ear.) The deacon never thought of such a 
thing ! But if it should please Providence 
to appoint to me such a fate, I should try 
and be resigned. 

Granny Cole. Resigned? Who's resigned? 
Not the President, has he? Well, I don't 
blame him. I'd resign, too, if I was into his 
place Nothing spiles a man's character so 
quick as being President or Congress Yer 
gran'father got in justice of the peace and 
chorus, once, and he resigned afore he was 
elected. Sed he didn't want his repetition 
spiled 
Jack, Three cheers for Gran'father Cole! 



Gra7iny C. Cheers? What's the matter 
with the cheers, now ? Yer father had them 
bottomed last year, and this year they were 
new painted. What's to pay with 'em now ? 

Mary [impatiently). Do listen, all of you, 
to this advertisement. 

Aunt M. Mary Cole, I'm sorry ycur head 
is so turned with the vanities of this world. 
Advertising for a pardner in that way is 
wicked. I hadn't orter listen to it. * 

Mary. Oh, it won't hurt you a bit, auntie. 
[reads) '* A gentlemai" of about forty, very 
fine looking; tall, slender, and fair-haired, 
with very expressive eyes, and side whiskers, 
and some property, wishes to make the ac- 
quaintance of a young lady with similar 
qualifications " 

Jack. A young lady with expressive eyes 
and side whiskers 

Mary. Do keep quiet, Jack Cole ! [reads) 
" With similar qualifications as to good looks 
and amiable temper, with a view to matri- 
mony. Address, with stamp to pay return 
postage — 'C. G., Scrubtown ; stating when 
and where an interview may be had." There! 
what do you think of that ? 

Jack. Deacon Goodrich to a T. *'C. G.'* 
stands for Calvin Goodrich. 

Aunt M. The land of goodness ! Deacon 
Goodrich, indeed ! a pillar of the church ! 
advertising for a wife ! No, no, Jack; it can't 
be him ! He'd never stoop so low ! 

Jack. But if all the women are as hard- 
hearted as you are^ and the poor man needs 
a wife. Think of his ten little olive plants ! 

Granny C Plants? Cabbage plants? Taint 
time to set them out yet. P'ust of August is 
plenty airly enuff to set 'em for winter. Cab- 
bages never begin to head till the nights 
come cold. 

Jack. Poor Mr. C. G. ! Why don't you 
answer it, Aunt Mattie ; and tell hmi you'll 
darn his stockings for him, and comb that 
fair hair of his ^ 



DIALOGUES FOR SCHOOLS AND LYCEUMS. 



405 



Aunt M. Jack Cole ! if you don't hold 
your tongue, I'll comb your hair for you in 
a way you won^t like. Me answering one 
of them low advertisements ! Me, indeed ! 
I hain't so eager to get married as some folks 
I know. Brother Cyrus and I have lived all 
our lives in maiden meditation, fancy free — 
the only sensible ones of the family of twelve 
children ; and it's my idee that we shall con- 
tinner on in that way. 

Mary. Why, don't you believe that Uncle 
Cyrus would get married if he could ? 

Aunt M. Your Uncle Cyrus ! I tell you, 
Mary Cole, he wouldn't marry the best wo- 
man that ever trod ! I've hearn him say so 
a hundred times. 

Mary. Won't you answer this advertise- 
ment, auntie ? Ill give you a sheet of my 
nicest gilt-edge note-paper if you will ! 

Au7tt M. {furiously). If you weren't so big, 
Mary Jane Cole, I'd spank you soundly ! I 
vow I would ! Me answer it, indeed ! 

{Leaves the room in great indignation^ 

Mary. Look here, Jack. What'll you bet 
she won't reply to that notice ? 

Jack. Nonsense ! Wouldn't she blaze if 
she could hear you ? 

Mary. I'll wager my new curled waterfall 
against your ruby pin that Aunt Mattie re- 
plies to Mr. " C. G." before to-morrow night. 

Jack. Done ! I shall wear a curled water- 
fall after to-morrow. 

Mary. No, sir ! But I shall wear a ruby 
pin. Jack, who do you think " C. G." is ? 

Jack. Really, I do not know ; do you ? 
Ah ! I know you do, by that look in your 
eyes. Tell me, that's a darling. 

Mary. Not I. I don't expose secrets to a 
fellow who tells them all over town. Be- 
sides, it would spoil the fun. 

Jack. Mary, you are the dearest little sister 
in the world! Tell me, please, (taking her 
hnnds}\ 

Mary. No, sir ! You don't get that out 



of me. Take care, now. Let go of my 
hands. I'm going up stairs to keep an eye 
on Aunt Mattie. She's gone up now to 
write an answer to " C. G." And if there is 
any fun by-and-by. Jack, if you're a good boy 
you shall be there to see. 

Granny C. To sea ? Going to sea ? Why, 
Jack Cole ! you haint twenty -one yet, and 
the sea's a dreadful place ! There's a sar- 
pint liver in it as big as the Scrubto^n meet- 
ing-'us', and whales that swaller folks ahve, 
clothes and all ! I read about one in a 
book a great while ago that swallered a man 
of the name of Jonah, and he didn't set well 
on the critter's stummuck, and up he come, 
lively as ever ! {Curtain falls ^ 

Scene ii. — The garden of a deserted house ^ in 
the vicinity ^ Mr. Cole's. Mary leading 
Jack cautiously along a shady path. 

Mary. There; we'll squat down behind 
this lilac bush. I'ts nearly the appointed 
hour. I heard Aunt Mattie soliloquizing in 
her room this morning, after this manner — 
" At eight o'clock this night I go to meet 
my destiny ! In the deserted garden, under 
the old pear tree. How very romantic ! " 
Hark ! there she comes ! 

Jack. Well, of all the absurd things that 
ever I heard tell of! Who would have be- 
lieved that our staid old maid aunt would 
have been guilty of answering a matrimonial 
advertisement ? 

Mary. Hush! Jack, if you make a noise 
and spoil the fun now, I'll never forgive you. 
Keep your head still, and don't fidget so. 

Aunt Mattie [slowly walking down the 
path — soliloqtdsing!) Eight o'clock ! It struck 
just as I started out. He ought to be here. 
Why does he tarry? If he aint punctual 
I'll give him the mitten. I swow I will ! 
Dear gracious ! what a sitivation to be in ! 
Me, at my time of hfe ! though, to be shure, 
I haint so old as — as I might be. The dew's 



406 



DIALOGUES FOR SCHOOLS AND LYCEUMS, 



a-falling, and I shall get the rheumatiz in 
these thin shoes, if he don't come quick. 
What if Jack and Mary should git hold of 
this ? I never should hear the last of it ! 
Never ! I wouldn't have 'em know it for a 
thousand dollars ! Goodness me 1 What if 
it should be the deacon ? Them children of 
his'n is dreadful youngsters ; but, the Lord 
helping me, I'd try to train 'em up in the way 
::hey should go. Hark ! is that him a-coming? 
No ; it's a toad hopping through the carrot 
bed. My soul and body! what if he should 
want to kiss me ? I'll chew a clove for fear 
he should. I wonder if it would be proper- 
ous to let him ? But then I s'pose if it's the 
deacon I couldn't help myself. He's an aw- 
,ful ^6'^tarmined man ; and if I couldn't help it 
^I shouldn't be to blame ! Deary me ! how I 
trimble ! There he comes 1 I hear his step! 
What a tall man ! 'Taint the deacon. He's 
got a shawl on ! Must be the new school- 
master ! he wears a shawl ! (a man approaches. 
Miss Mattie ^^^i- up to him cautiously^ Is 
this Mr. C. G. ? 

C, G. Yes, it is ; Is this Miss M. G. ? 

Aunt M. It is. Dear sir, I hope you wont 
think me bold and unmaidenly in coming 
out here all alone in the dark to meet 
you ? 

C. G. Never ! Ah, the happiness of this 
moment ! For forty years I have been look- 
ing for thee ! [puts his arm around her.) 

Aunt M. Oh, dear mc ! dont ! dont! my 
dear sir ! I aint used to it! and it aint ex- 
actly proper out here in this old garden ! It's 
a dreadful lonely spot, and if people should 
see us they might talk. 

C, G. Let 'em talk! They'll talk still 
more when you and I are married, I reckon. 
Lift your veil and let me see your sweet fa :e. 

Aunt M. Yes, if you'll remove that hat 
and let me behold your countenance. 

C. G. Now, tnen ; both together. (Aunt 
M. throws back her veil. C. G. removes his 



hat. They gaze at each other a mon„cfU tn 
utter silence^ 

Aunt M. Good gracious airth ! 'tis brother 
Cyrus ! 

C. G. Jubiter Ammon ! 'tis sister Martha ! 

Aunt M. Oh, my soul and body, Cyrus 
Gordon ! Who'd ever a-thought of you, at 
your time of life, cutting up such a caper as 
this ? You old, bald-headed, gray-whiskered 
man! Forty years old! My gracious! You 
were fifty-nine last July ! 

C, G. Well, if I am, you're two year older. 
So it's as broad as 'tis long! 

Aunt M. Why, I thought shure it was 
Deacon Goodrich that advertised. C. G. 
stands for Calvin Goodrich. 

C. G. Yes ; and it stands for Cyrus Gor- 
don, too. And Deacon Goodrich was mar- 
ried last night to Peggy Jones. 

Aunt M. That snub-nosed, red-haired Peg- 
gy Jones! He'd ort to be flayed alive! 
Married again ! and his wife not hardly cold \ 
Oh, the desatefulness of men ! Thank Pro- 
video'^e I haint tied to one of the abominable 
sect. 

C. G. Well, Martha, we're both in the 
same boat. If you wont tell of me, I wont 
of you. But it's a terrible disappointment to 
me, for I sarting thought M. G. meant Ma- 
rion Giles, the pretty milliner. 

Aunt M. Humph! What an old goose! 
She wouldn't look at you ! I heerd her laf- 
fing at your swaller-tailed coat, when you 
come out of meeting last Sunday. But I'm 
ready to keep silence if you will. Gracious! 
if Jack and Mary should get wind of thi? 
shouldn't we have to take it ? 

C. G. Hark! what's that? {voice behind 
the lilac-bush sings .*) 

''Oh, there's many a bud the cold f.^st will nip, 
And there's many a slip'twixt the cup and the lip." 

Aunt M. That's Jack's voice ! Goodness 
mc ! Let us scoot for home ! 



DIALOGUES FOR SCHOOLS AND LYCEUMS. 



407 



Jack. Did he kiss ycu, Aunt Mattie ? 

Mary. Do you like the smell of cloves, 
Uncle Cyrus ? 

C. G. Confound you both ! If I had hold 
of ye I'd let you kn-r-w if I like to smell 
cloves, and birch, too. {Curtain falls. 

MRS. MALAPROi^ AND CAPTAIN 
ABSOLUTE. 

Fro7n ''Thj Rivals.'' 
Costc^mes. 
IVErs. Malafrop, Crin^son satin dress, trim- 
med with white lace ^md satin ribbon. 
Captain Absolute, Si-arlct regimental full- 
dress coat, white breec lies, silk stockings and 
cocked hat. 

Enter Mrs. MALAPROi>, with a letter in her 
hand, Captain Absolute following. 

Mrs. Malaprop. 



W/ou: 



OUR being Sir Anthony's son, Captain, 

|\) would itself be a sufficient accommo- 
dation ; but fi :)m the ingenuity of 
your appearance, I am convinced you de- 
serve the character her-i given of you. 

Capt. A. Permit me to say, madame, that 
ss I have never yet had the pleasure of see- 
ing Miss Languish, my principal inducement 
in this affair, at present, is the honor of being 
allied to Mrs. Malaprop, of whose intellectual 
accomplishments, elegr.nt manners and un- 
affected learning no tongue is silent. 

Mrs. M. Sir, you dr* me infinite honor ! 
I beg, Captain, you'll he seated. {Both sit7\ 
Ah ! few gentlemen, nowadays, know how to 
value the ineffectual qualities in a woman ! 
Men have no sense nov/ but for the worthless 
flower of beauty. 

Capt. A. It is but toe- true, indeed, ma'am ; 
yet I fear our ladies shculd share the blame ; 
they think our admi nation of beauty so 
great that knowledge in them would be 
superfluous. Thus, lik^ garden trees, they 



seldom show fruit till time has robbed them 
of the more spacious blossoms : few, like 
Mrs. Malaprop and the orange tree, are rich 
in both at once. 

Mrs. M. Sir, you overpower me with good 
breeding. \_Aside.'\ He is the very pine- 
apple of politeness ! You are not ignorant. 
Captain, that this giddy girl has, somehow, 
contrived to fix her affections on a beggarly, 
strolling, eavesdropping ensign, whom none 
of us have seen, and nobody knows any- 
thing of. 

Capt. A. Oh, I have heard the silly affair 
before. I'm not at all prejudiced against her 
on that account. But it must be very dis- 
tressing, indeed, to you, ma'am. 

Mrs. M. Oh, it gives me the hydrostatics 
to such a degree ! — I thought she had per- 
sisted from corresponding with him; but, 
behold, this very day, I have interceded 
another letter from the fellow — I believe I 
have it in my pocket. 

Capt. A. My last note ! [Aside.'] 

Mrs. M. Ay, here it is. - 

Capt. A. Oh, the little traitress, Lucy! 

Mrs. M. There, perhaps you may know 
the writing. [Gives him the letter^ 

Capt. A. I think I have seen the hand 
before — yes, I certainly must have seen this 
hand before. 

Mrs. M. Nay, but read it, Captain. 

Capt. A. [reads'^ *' My soul's idol, my 
adored Lydia ! " Very tender, indeed ! 

Mrs. M. Tender! ay, and profane too^ 
o'my conscience. 

Capt. A. ''I am excessively alarmed at the 
intelligence you send me, the more sc as my 
new rival" 

Mrs. M. That's you, sir. 

Capt. A. " Has universally the character of 
being an accomplished gentleman and a man 
of honor." Well, that's handsome enough. 

Mrs. M, Oh, the fellow has some design 
in writing so. 



408 



DIALOGUES FOR SCHOOLS AND LYCEUMS. 



Capt. A. That he had, I'll answer for him, 
ma'am. 

Mrs. M. But go on, sir — you'll see pres- 
ently. 

Capt. A. "As for the old weather-beaten 
she-dragon who guards you"- — who can he 
mean by that ? 

Mrs. M. Me, sir — me — he means me there 
—what do you think now? — but go on a 
little further. 

Capt. A. Impudent scoundrel ! — "it shall 
go hard, but I will elude her vigilance ! as I 
am told that the same ridiculous vanity which 
makes her dress up her coarse features and 
deck her dull chat with hard words which 
she don't understand" 

Mrs. M. There, sir, an attack upon my 
language! what do you think of that? — an 
aspersion upon my parts of speech ! was ever 
such a brute ! Sure, 'ii I reprehend anything 
in this world, it is thi:: use of my oracular 
tongue, and a nice derangement of epitaphs. 

Capt. A. He deserves to be hanged and 
quartered ! let me see — " same ridiculous 
vanity " 

Mrs. M. You need not read it again, sir! 

Capt. A I beg pardon, ma'am — " does also 
lay her open to the grossest deceptions from 
flattery and pretended admiration " — an im- 
pudent coxcomb — " so that I have a scheme 
to see you shortly, with the old harridan's 
consent, and even to make her a go-between 
in our interviews " — Was ever such assur- 
ance ! 

Mrs^ M. Did you ever hear anything like 
it? \They rise.'] He'P elude my vigilance? 
will he? — yes, yes! — ha! ha! he's very likely 
to enter these doors! — we'll try who can run 
best! 

Capt. A. So we will, ma'am — so we will — 
Ha ! ha ! ha ! a conceited puppy ! ha ! ha ! 
ha! — Well, but Mrs. Malaprop, as the girl 
seems so infatuated by this fellow, suppose 
you »verc to wmk at her corresponding with 



him for a little time — let her even plot an 
elopement with him — then do you connive 
at her escape — -while I, just in the nick, will 
have the fellow laid by the heels, and fairly 
contrive to carry her off in his stead. 

Mrs. M. I am delighted with the scheme; 
never was anything better perpetrated. 

Capt. A. But, pray, could I not see the 
lady for a few minutes now ? — I should like 
to try her temper a little. 

Mrs. M. Why, I don't know — I doubt she 
is not prepared for a visit of this kind. 
There is a decorum in these matters. 

Capt. A. O, she won't mind me! — only 
tell her Beverley 

Mrs.M. Sir! 

Capt. A. Gently, good tongue ! \_Aside.'] 

Mrs, M. What did you say of Beverley? 

Capt. A. Oh, I was going to propose that 
you should tell her, by way of jest, that it 
was Beverley who was below — she'd come 
down fast enough then — ha ! ha ! ha ! 

Mrs. M, 'Twould be a trick she well de- 
serves— -besides, you know, the fellow tells 
her he'll get my consent to see her — ha! ha! 
— Let him, if he can, I say again. — Lydia, 
come down here! \^Calling7\ He'll make 
me a go-between in their interviews! — ha! 
ha ! ha !— Come down, I say, Lydia ! — I 
don't wonder at your laughing — ha! ha! ha! 
his impudence is truly ridiculous. 

Capt. A. 'Tis very ridiculous, upon my 
soul, ma'am! — ha! ha! ha! 

Mrs.M. The little hussy won't hear. Well, 
I'll go and tell her at once who it is— she 
shall know that Captain Absolute is come 
to wait on her; and I'll make her behave as 
becomes a young woman. 

Capt. A. As you please ma'am. 

Mrs. M. For the present, Captain, your 
servant — Ah! youVe not done laughing 
yet, I see — elude my vigilance! yes, yes— - 
Ha! ha! ha! {Exit, 

Richard Bkinsley Sheridan. 



DIALOGUES FOR SCHOOLS AND LYCEUMS. 



409 



WINNING A WIDOW. 

Characters. 

Mrs. Cummiskey . . A Middle-aged V/idow. 
Mr. Costello . . .An Old Bachelor, 
Scene. — Mrs. C.^s dwelling. Table set. Mr. 
C. outside. 

Mr. C. Good evcnin' to you, ma'am. 

Mrs. C. Good evenin' to you, Mr. Costello. 

Mr. C. It's fine weather we're havin', ma'am. 

Mrs. C. It is that, thank God, but the win- 
ter's comin' at last, and it comes to all, both 
great and small. 

Mr. C. Ah ! but for all that it doesn't come 
to all alike. Now here are you, ma'am, fat, rosy 
and good-lookin', eqwally swate as a summer 
greenin', a fall pippin or a winter russet — 

Mi's. C. Arrah, hould your whist, now. 
Much an old bachelor like you knows about 
apples or women. But come in, Mr. Cos- 
tello, and take a cup o' tay with me, for I was 
only standin' be the door lookin' at the peo- 
ple passin' for company sake, like, and I'm 
sure the kittle must have sung itself hoarse. 
[Mr. C. ejzters and sits7\ 

Mr. C. It's very cosy ye are here, Mrs. 
Cummiskey. 

Mrs. C. Yes. [Lays the stepper.'] It is that 
whin I do be havin' company. 

Mr. C, Ah ! it must be lonesome for you 
with only yer cat and the cup o' tay. 

Mrs. C. Sure it is. But sit up to the table, 
Mr. Costello. Help yourself to this fish, and 
don't furget the purtaties. Look at them ; 
they're splittin' their sides wid laughin'. [She 
pours tea.] 

Mr. C. I'm sensible of the comforts of a 
home, Mrs. Cummiskey, though I've none 
meself. Mind now, the difference between 
the taste o' tay made and sarved that way 
and the tay they gives you in an aitin'-house. 

Mrs. C. Sure there's nothin' like a little 
liome of yer own. I wonder yer never got 
piarrit, Mr, Costello- 



Mr. C. I was about to make the same re- 
mark in rifference to yerself, ma'am. 

Mrs. C. God help us, aren't I a widder 
woman this seven years ? 

Mr. C. Ah, but it's thinkin' I was why ye 
didn't get marrif again. 

Mrs. C. Well, it's sure I am [thoughtfully 
setting down her teacup and raising her hand 
by way of emphasis], there was no betther 
husband to any woman than him that's dr"^ 
and gone, heaven save an' rest his sowl. He 
was that asy a child could- do anything wid 
him, and he was as humorous as a monkey. 
You favor him very much, Mr. Costello. 
He was about your height, and complicted 
like you. 

Mr. C. Ah! 

Mrs. C. He often used to say to me in his 
banterin' way. Sure, Nora, what's the woruld 
to a man whin his wife is a widder, manin', 
you know, that all the timptations and luxu- 
ries of this life can never folly a man beyant 
the grave. Sure, Nora, says he, what's the 
woruld to a man whin his wife's a widder ? 

Mr. C. It was a sensible sayin'that [helping 
himself to more fish]. 

Mrs. C. I mmd the day John died. He 
knew everything to the last, and about four 
o'clock in the afthernoon — it was seventeen 
minutes past five exactly, be the clock, that 
he died — he says to me, Nora, says he, you've 
been a good wife, says he, an' I've been a 
good husband, says he, an' so there's no love 
lost atween us, says he, an' I could give ye a 
good characthur to any place, says he, an' I 
wish ye could do the same for me where I'm 
goin', says he; but it's case equal, says he^ 
an' every dog has his day, an' some has a day 
an' a half, says he, an' says he, I'll know more 
in a bit than Father Corrigan himself, says 
he, but I'll say now, says he, that I've always 
been a true son of the Church, says he, so 
I'll not bother my brains about it ; an' he 
says, says he, I lave ye in good hands^ Nora, 



410 



DIALOGUES FOR SCHOOLS AND LYCEUMS. 



for I lave you in your hands, says he ; an' if 
at any time ye see any wan ye hke betther 
nor me, marry him, says he. Ah, Nora, says 
he, for the first time spakin' it solemn like, 
ah, Nora, what's the woruld to a man whin 
his wife's a widder ? An' says he, I lave fifty 
dollars for masses, and the rest I lave to your- 
self, said he, an' I needn't tell ye to be a good 
mother to the childer', says he, for well ye 
know there are none. Ah, poor John ! Will 
ye have another cup of tay, Mr. Costello ? 

Mr. C. It must have been very hard on 
ye \_passi71g ciip\. Thank ye, ma'am, no 
more. 

Mrs, C. It was hard, but time will tell. I 
must cast about me for my own livin' ; and 
so I got intil this place an' here I am to-day. 
\_Botii rise from the tabic and seat themselves 
before the fire.'] 

Mr. C. Ah ! an' here we are both of us 
this even in.' 

Mrs. C. Here we are, sure enough. 

Mr. C. And so I mind ye of — of him, do I ? 

Mrs. C. That ye do. Ye favor him greatly. 
Dark complicted, an' the same pHsint smile. 

Mr. C. Now, with me sittin' here an' you 
sittin' there ferninst me, ye might almost 
think ye were marrit agin. \_Insi7iiiatingly .] 

Mrs. C. Ah, go away now for a taze that 
ye are. [Mussi?ig her apron by rolling the 
cor Iters of it. 

Mr. C, I dis remember what it was ye said 
about seein' any man you liked betther nor 
him. \j\Ioving his chair nearer to that of the 
widow.'] 



Mrs. C. He said, said he [smoothing her 
apron over her knees\ Nora, said he, if anny 
time ye see anny man ye like betther nor me, 
marry him, says he. 

Mr. C. Did he say anything about anny 
one ye liked as good as him ? 

Mrs. C. I don't mind that he did. {Re-- 
flectively, folding her hands in her lap.] 

Mr. C. I suppose he left that to yerself ? 

Mrs. C, Faith, an' I don't know, thin, v, 

Mr. C. Div ye think ye like me as well a^ 
ye did him ? \_Persuasively, leaning forward 
to look i7tto the widoius eyes^ which are cast 
down.] 

Mrs. C. Ah, go away now for a taze. 
\_Straightening herself and play f idly slapping 
Mr. Costello on the face. He moves his 
chair still nearer, a?id puts his arm around 
her waist.] 

Mr. C. Tell me, div ye like me as well as 
ye did him ? 

Mrs. C. I — I most — I most disremember 
now how much I liked him. [Embar- 
rassed.] 

Mr. C. Ah, now, don't be breakin' me 
heart. Answer me this question, Mrs. Cum- 
miskey — Is your heart tender toward me ? 

Mrs. C. It is [whispers]^ an' there, now yt 
have it. 

Mr. C. Glory ! [Kisses her.] 

Mrs. C. But, James, ye haven't told me yet 
how ye liked yer tay ? 

Mr. C. Ah, Nora, me jewel, the taste of 
that first kiss would take away the taste of 
all the tay that ever was brewed. 



Miscellaneous Selections 



COMPRISING 



Dramatic, Humorous and Tragic Pieces from the most Celebrated Authors, 

adapted to the use of Public Schools, Academies and Higher Institutions 

of Learning, for Public and Social Entertainments. 

Wit and Wisdom Represented by a Great Variety of Entertaining Characters, 



UNCLE PETE. 
Characters. 
George Peyton, a planter. 
Uncle Pete, a venerable darkey, looking the 

worse for wear, with more patches than 

pantaloons. 
SiQ^W£.— 'Exterior view of a planter's cabin, 

with practicable door. George Peyton 

discovered, seated on a bench, imder veranda, 

reading a newspaper. 
Enter Uncle Pete, a limp noticeable in his 

left leg^ the knee of which is bowed outward, 

hoe 071 his shoulder. 

Uncle Pete. {Pausing as he enters, shading 
his eyes with his hand, and going towards 
George Peyton.) Yes, dar he is ; dar is 
Marse George, a sittin' on the porch, a 
readin' his papah. Golly, I cotch him at 
home ! {Advancing and calling) Marse 
George, Marse George, Fs come to sec you 
once mo', once mo,' befo' I leabes you fo'- 
ebber. Marse George, I'se gwine to de odder 
shoah ; Pse far on de way to my long home, 
to dat home ober acrost de ribber, whar de 
wicked hab' no mo' trouble, and where water- 
millions ripen all the year ! Youns has all 
bin berry kine to me heah, Marse George, 
berry kine to de ole man, but I's gwine 
away, acrost de dark ribber. Ps gwine ober, 
an' dar, on dat odder shoah, Pll stan' an' 
pick on de golden hawp among de angels, 
\\\\ in de company of de blest. Dar Pll fine 



my rest; dar Pll stan' befo' de throne fo'- 
ebber mo^ a singin' an' a shoutin' susannis to 
de Lord ! 

George Peyton. Oh, no. Uncle Pete, you're 
all right yet — you're good for another twenty 
years. 

Uncle P. Berry kine o' you to say dat, 
Marse George — berry kine — but it's no use. 
It almos' breaks my hawt to leab you, and to 
leabde missus and de chillun, Marse George, 
but Ps got my call — Ps all gone inside. 

George P. Don't talk so, Uncle Pete ; you 
are still quite a hale old man. 

Utcle P. No use talkin', Marse George, Ps 
gwine to hebben berry soon. 'Pears like I 
can heah the singin' on de odder shoah. 
'Pears like I can heah de voice of ol' " Aunt 
Liza" an' de odders dat's gone befoah. 
You's bin berry kine, Marse George— de 
missus an' de chillun'sbin berry good — seems 
like all de people's been berry good to poor 
ole Pete — poor cretur Ifke me. 

George P. Nonsense, Uncle Pete {kindlj 
a7id encouragingly^, nonsense, you are good 
for many years yet. You'll see the sod 
placed on the graves of many younger men 
than you are, before they dig the hole for 
you. What you want just now. Uncle Pete, 
is a good square meal. Go into the kitchen 
and help yourself — fill up inside. There is 
no one at home, but I think you know the 
road. Plenty of cold victuals of all kinds in 

there. 

411 



il2 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



Uncle P. {^A smile illuminating his face.) 
'Bleedged t'ye, Marse George, 'bleeged t'ye, 
sah, I'll go ! For de little time I has got to 
stay, I'll not go agin natur'; but it's no use. 
I's all gone inside — I's got my call. I'm oneo' 
dem dat's on de way to de golden shoah. 

{Exit Uncle Pete through door, his limp 
luirdly noticeable. His manner showing his de- 
light.-) 

George P. Poor old Uncle Pete, he seems to 
be the victim of religious enthusiasm. I sup- 
pose he has been to camp-meeting, but he is a 
cunning old fox, and it must have taken a 
regular hard-shell sermon to convert the old 
sinner. He was raised on this plantation, and 
I have often heard my father say, he hadn't a 
better negro on the place. Ever since the war, 
he has been working a little, and loafing a good 
deal, and I have no doubt he sometimes sighs to 
be a slave again at work on the old plantation. 
(^Starts and listens. ) 

Uncle P. (^Singing inside :) 

Jay bird, jay bird, sittin' on a limb, 
He winked at me, an' I at him ; 
Cocked my gun, an* split his shin, 
An' left the arrow a-stickin'. 

George P. {^Starting up. ) Zounds ! if that 
©Id thief hasn't found my bitters bottle ! Pete ! 
Pete, you rascal ! 

Uncle P. ( Contiftues singing:) 

Snake bake a hoe cake. 
An' set the frog to mind it ; 
But the frog fell asleep, 
An' the lizard come an' find it. 

Geoi'ge P. Pete ! you rascal, come out of 
that. 

Uncle P. ( Whc does not hear the planter, 
continues singing, and dances a gentle^ old- 
■fashio7ied shuffle. ) 

De debbil cotch the groun' hog 
A-sittin' in desun, 
An' kick him off de back-log, 
^ ^s' to see de fun. 

George P. {Furious.) Pete; you infernal 
nigger, come out of that, I say. 



Uncle P. {Still singing and dancing S) 

De 'possum up de gum tree, 

A-playin' wid his toes, 
An' up comes de ginny pig, 

Den off he goes. 

George P. {Thoroughly aroused, throwing 
down his paper. ) You, Pete ; blast the nigger. 
Uncle P. { Continues singing :) 

De weasel went to see de polecat's wife, 
You nebber smelt such a row in all yer — 

George P. {Rushes in the cabin, interrupts 
the singing, and drags Pete out by the ear.) 
Pete ! Pete, you infernal old rascal, is that the 
way you are crossing the river ? Are those the 
songs they sing on the golden shore ? Is this 
the way for a man to act when he has got his 
call — when he is all gone inside ? 

Uncle P. {Looking as if he had been caught in 
a hen-roost.) Marse George. I's got de call, 
sah, an' I's gwine acrost de dark ribber soon, 
but I's now braced up a little on de inside, an' 
de 'scursion am postponed — you see, de 'scur- 
sion am postponed, sah ! 

George P. {Folding his arms, looking at 
Pete, as if in admiration of his impudence.) 
The excursion is postponed, is it ? Well, this 
excursion is not postponed, you old scoundiel. 
{Seizes Pete by the coat- collar and runs him off 
stage, L.) [curtain.] 

PAT'S EXCUSE. 

„ ( Nora, a young Irish lass. 

Characters \ \ ' ./ e> 

( Pat Murphy, a gay deceiver. 

Curtain rises. — Discovers Nora in kitchen, 
peeling potatoes. 

Nora. Och ! it's deceivin' that all men are ! 
Now I belaved Pat niver would forsake me, and 
here he's trated me like an ould glove, and I'll 
niver forgive him. How praties make your eyes 
water. ( Wipes tears away. ) Almost as bad as 
onions. Not that I'm sryin'; oh, no. Pat 
Murphy cant see me cry. {Kiiock zuithout.) 
There is Pat now, the rascal. I'll lock the door. 
{Hastens to lock door. ) 

Pat {without). Arrah, Nora, and here I am. 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



ilH 



Rora. And there ye' 11 stay, ye spalpeen. 

Pat {without'). Ah, come now, Nora, — ain't 
it opening the door you are after? Sure, I'm 
dyin' of cold. 

Nora. Faith, you are too hard a sinner to die 
aisy — so you can take your time about it. 

Pat. Open the door, cushla \ the police will 
be takin' me up. 

No7^a. He won't kape you long, alanna ! 

Pat. Nora, if you let me in, I'll tell you how 
I came to lave you at the fair last night. 

Nora {relenting). Will you, for true? 

Pat. Indade I will. 

{Nora unlocks door. Enter Pat gayly. He 
snatches a kiss front her. ) 

Nora. Be off wid ye ! Now tell me how you 
happened to be wid Mary O'Dwight last night? 

Pat {sitting down). Well, you see it happened 
this way ; ye know Mike O' Dwight is her brother, 
and he and me is blatherin' good friends, ye 
know j and as we was going to Caltry the ither 
day, Mike says tome, says he: ^'Pat, what' 11 
you take fur that dog?" and I says, says I — 

Nora {who has been listening earnestly). 
Bother you, Pat, but you are foolin' me again. 

Pat {coaxingly takes her hand). No — no- — 
Nora — I'll tell ye the truth this time, sure. Well, 
as I was sayin', Mike and me is good friends; 
and Mike says, says he: ''Pat, that's a good 
dog." ''Yis," says I, ''it is." And he says, 
says he. "Pat, it is a blatherin' good dog." 
' ' Yis, ' ' says I ; and then — and then — {Scratches 
his head as if to aid his unagination. ) 

Nora {angrily snatching away hand\. There ! 
I'll not listen to another word ! 

She sings. (Tune-Rory O'Moore.) 
Oh, Patrick Murphy, be off wid you, pray, 
I been watching your pranks this many a day ; 
You're false, and ye're fickle, as sure as I live 
And your hateful desaivin' I'll niver forgive. 
Ouch ! do you think I was blind yester night. 
When you walked so fine with Mary O'Dwight? 
You kissed her, you rascal, and called her your own, 
And left me to walk down the dark lane alone. 

Pat {taking up song). 

Oh, Nora, me darlint, be off wid your airs. 
For nobody wants you, and nobody cares ! 



For you do want your Patrick, for don't you see, 

You could not so well love any but me. 

When my lips met* Miss Mary's, now just look at me, 

I shut my eyes tight just this way, don't you see ? 

And when the kiss came, what did I do ? — 

I shut my eyes tight, and made believe it was jj/^m ! 

Nora. 

Be off wid your nonsense — a word in your ear, 
lyisten, my Patrick, be sure that you hear ; 
I^ast night when Mike Duffy came here to woo, 
We sat in the dark, and made believe it was you — 
And when the kiss came, now just look at me, — 
I shut my eyes tight, just this way, don't you see > 
And when our lips met, what did I do, 
But keep my eyes shut, and maka belave it was you ! 
{Nora, laughing; Pat, disconcerted.) 
[quick curtain.] 

THE DUEL. 

Enter Sir Lucius O' Trigger to left, with pistols^ 
followed by Acres. 

Acres. (Z.f ) By my valor, then, Sir Lucius, 
forty yards is a good distance. Odds levels and 
aims ! — I say it is a good distance. 

Sir Lucius. {R.) Is it for muskets or small 
field-pieces? Upon my conscience Mr. Acres, 
you must leave those things to me. — Stay, now — > 
I'll show y ou . ( Measures paces along the floor. ) 
There, now, that is a very pretty distance — ^a 
pretty gentleman's distance. 

Acr. {R. ) Zounds ! we might as well fight 
in a sentry-box ! I tell you. Sir Lucius, the 
further he is off, the cooler I shall take my aim. 

Sir L. (Z. ) Faith ! then I suppose you would 
aim at him best of all if he was out of sight ! 

Acr. No, Sir Lucius; but I should think i 
forty or eight-and-thirty yards — 

Sir L. Pooh ! pooh ! nonsense ! Three or 
four feet between the mouths of your pistols is 
as good as a mile. 

Acr. Odds bullets, no ! — by my valor ! .here 
is no merit in killing him so near ! Do, my 
dear Sir Lucius, let me bring him down at a long 
shot : — a long shot, Sir Lucius, if you love me ! 

* From the asterisk they sing- only the first strain of" Rory 
O' More ' ' — omitting the minor strain , with which Nora finishe* 
her first stanza. 

+Z.. signifies left ; R., right, and C, centre of stage. 



-114 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



Sir L. Well, the gentlemen's friend and I 
must settle that. But tell me now, Mr. Acres, 
in case of an accident, is there any little will or 
commission I could execute for you ? 

Act. I am much obliged to you, Sir Lucius — 
but I don't understand — 

Sir L. Why, you may think there's no being 
shot at without a little risk ; and if an unlucky 
bullet should carry a quietus with it — I say it 
vvill be no time then to be bothering you about 
family matters. 

Acr. A quietus ! 

Sir Z. For instance, now — if that should be 
the case-.-'WOuld you choose to be pickled and 
sent home? — or would it be the same to you to 
lie here in the Abbey? — I'm told there is 
very snug lying in the Abbey. 

Acr Pickled ! — Snugly in the Abbey ! — Odds 
tremors ! Sir Lucius, don't talk so ! 

Sir L. I suppose, Mr. Acres, you never were 
engaged in an affair of this kind before. 

Acr. No, Sir Lucius, never before. 

Sir L. Ah! that's a pity! — there's nothing 
like being used to a thing. Pray, now, how 
would you receive the gentlemen's shot? 

Acr. Odds files ! — I've practiced that — there, 
Sir Lucius — there. (^Piits himself in an aiti- 
,ude.') A side front, hey? Lll make myself 
small enough : I'll stand edgeways. 

Sir L. Now — you're quite out — for if you 
stand so when I take my aim — (^Leveling at 
him. ) 

Acr. Zounds ! Sir Lucius — are you sure it is 
not cocked? 

Sir L. Never fear. 

Acr. But — but —you do.x't know — it may go 
off of its own head ! 

Sir L. Pooh ! be easy. Well, now, if I hit 
you in the body, my bullet has a double chance ; 
for, if it misses a vital part of your right side, 
'twill b J very hard if it don't succeed on the 
left. 

Acr. A vital part! 

Sir L. But, there, fix yourself so — (^placing 
him') — let him see the broadside of your full 
front , there, now, a ball or two may pass clean 



through your body, and never do any harm at 
all. 

Acr. Clean through me ! — a ball or two clean 
through me ! 

Sir L. Ay, may they ; and it is much the 
genteelest attitude into the bargain. 

Acr. Look'ee, Sir Lucius ! I'd just as lieve 
be shot in an awkward posture as a genteel one ; 
so, by my valor ! I will stand edgeways. 

Sir L. (^Looking at Ids watch. ) Sure, they don' t 
mean to disappoint us. Ha ! no, faith : I think 
I see them coming. ( Crosses to R. ) 



Acr. (Z.) Hey! — what! — comi 



ng 



Sir L. Ay. Who are those yonder, getting 
over the stile ? 

Acr. There are two of them, indeed ! Well 
— let them come — hey, Sir Lucius ! we — we — 
we — we — won't run ! 

SirL. Run! 

Acr. No, — I say, — we won't run, by my 
valor ! 

Sir L. What's the matter with you? 

Acr. Nothing — nothing — my dear' friend — 
my dear Sir Lucius! bui I— I don't feel quite 
so bold, somehow, as I did. 

Sir L. O, fy ! Consider your honor. 

Acr. Ay — true — my honor. Do, Sir Lucius, 
edge in a word or two every now and then about 
my honor, 

SirL. Well, here they're coming. (^Look- 
ing R.) 

Acr. Sir Lucius, if I wa'n't with you, I should 
almost think I was afraid ! If my valor should 
leave me ! — Valor will come and go. 

Sir L. Then pray keep it fast while you 
have it. 

Acr. Sir Lucius, I doubt it is going! — -yes — 
my valor is certainly going ! — it is sneaking off 
I feel it oozing out, as it were, at the palms o 
my hands ! 

Sir L. Your honor ! your honor I Here they 
are. 

Acr. O mercy ! — now — that I was safe 2 
Clod Hall ! or could be shot before I was aware 
(Sir Lucius takes Acres by the arm, and ceads 
him reluctlantly off, R. ) Sheripan. 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



415 



READING THE WILL. 

Characters : 
Swipes, a brewer. Currie, a saddler. 
Frank Millington, and 'Squire Draw: . 

Enter Swipes, i?.,* Currie, Z., 

Swipes. A sober occasion this, brother Currie ! 
Who would have thought the old lady was so 
near her end ? 

Currie. Ah ! we must all die, brother Swipes. 
Those who live longest outlive the most. 

Swipes. True, true ; but, since we must die 
and leave our earthly possessions, it is well that 
the law takes such good care of us. Had the old 
lady her senses when she departed ? 

Cur. Perfectly, perfectly. 'Squire Drawl told 
me she read every word of her last will and test- 
ament aloud, and never signed her name better. 

Swipes. Had you any hint from the 'Squire 
what disposition she made of her property? 

Cur. Not a whisper ! the ' Squire is as close 
as a miner's purse. But one of the witnesses 
hinted to me that she has cut off ner graceless 
nephew with a shilling. 

Swipes. Has she ? Good soul ! Has she ? 
fou know I come in, then, in right of my wife. 

Cur. And I in my own right ; and this is, no 
ioubt, the reason why we have been called to 
iear the reading of the will. 'Squire Drawl 
knows how things should be done, though he is 
as air-tight as one of your own beer-barrels, 
brother Swipes. But here comes the young rep- 
robate. He must be present, as a matter of 
course, you know. {^Enter Frank Millington, 
R. ) Your servant, young gentleman. SO;, your 
benefactress has left you, at last ! 

Swipes. It is a painfull thing to part with old 
and good friends, Mr. Millington. 

Fra7ik. It is so, sir ; but I could bear her loss 
better, had I not so often been ungrateful for her 
kindness. She was my only friend, and I knew 
not her value. . 

Ctir. It is too late to repent. Master Milling- 
ton. You will now ^ave a chance to earn your 
own bread. 

* R. signifies Hghi : L„ Ufi and C, centre of stage-. 



Swipes. Ay, ay, by the sweat of your brow, 
as better people are obliged to. You would 
make a fine brewer's boy, if you were not toe* 
old. 

Cur. Ay, or a saddler's lackey, if held with 
a tight rein. 

Frank. Gentlemen, your remarks imply that 
my aunt has treated me as I deserved. I am 
above your insults, and only hope you will 
bear your fortune as modestly, as I shall mine 
submissively. I shall retire. (^As he is going, 
R., enter 'Squire Drawl, R.') 

^Squire. Stop, stop, young man ! We must 
have your presence. Good-morning, gentle^ 
men : you are early on the ground. 

Cur. I hope the 'Squire is well to-day. 

^Squire. Pretty comfortable for an invalid. 

Swipes. I trust the damp air has not affected 
your lungs. 

^Squire. No, I believe riot. You know I 
never hurry. Slow and sure is my maxim. 
Well, since the heirs-at-law are all convened, I 
shall proceed to open the last will and testament 
of your deceased relative, according to law. 

Swipes. (^JVliile the 'Squire is breaking the 
seal.) It is a trying scene to leave all one's 
possessions, 'Squire, in this manner ! 

Cur. It really makes me feel melancholy 
when I look round and see everything but the 
venerable owner of these goods. Well did the 
preacher say. All is vanity ! 

^Squire. Please to be seated, gentlemen. 
(^All sit. — The 'Squire puts on his spectacles, 
and reads slowly. ) '■ ^ Imprimis : Whereas my 
nephew, Francis Millington, by his disobedience 
and ungrateful conduct, has shown himself un- 
worthy of my bounty, and incapable of manag- 
ing my large estate, I do hereby give and be- 
queath all my houses, farms, stocks, bonds, 
moneys and property, both personal and real, to 
my dear cousins, Samuel Swipes, of Malt street, 
brewer, and Christopher Currie, o'' Fly Court, 
saddler." ('Squire takes off his spectacles to 
wipe them.") 

Swipes. (^Dreadfully overcome.) Generc^us 
creature ! kind soul ! I always loved her. 



4i6 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



Cur. She was g-^M, she was kind ! She was 
in her right mind. Brother Swipes, when we 
divide, I think I will take the mansion-house. 

Swipes. Not so fast , if you please, Mr. Cur- 
rie ! My wife has lot;g had her eye upon that, 
and must have it. (^Both rise. ) 

Cur. There will be two words to that bar- 
gain, Mr. Swipes ! And, besides, I ought to 
have the first choice. Did not I lend her a new 
chaise every time she wished to ride ? And who 
knows what influence . 

Swipes. Am I not named first in her will? 
And did I not furnish her with my best small 
beer for inore than six months? And who 
knows . 

Frank. Gentlt^tiicn, I must leave you. 

i^Going.') 

^Squire. ( Wiping his spectacles, and putting 
them on. ) Pray, gentlemen, keep your seats. I 
have not done yet. (^All sit. ) Let me see ; 
where was I? — Ay, — ''All my property, both 
personal and real, to my dear cousins, Samuel 
Swipes, of Malt street, brewer " 

Swipes. Yes ! 

'Squire. ''And Christ^ooher Currie, Fly Court, 
saddler ' ' 

Cur. Yes ! 

'Squire. " To h-^.ve and to hold in trust, for 
the sole and exclusive benefit of my nephew, 
Francis Millington, until he shall have attained 
the age of twenty-one years ; by which time I 
hope he will have so far reformed his evil habits, 
as that he may safely be intrusted with the large 
fortune which I hereby bequeath to him." 

Swipes. What's all this? You don't mean 
that we are humbugged? In trust ! — how does 
that appear? Where is it? 

'Squire. (^Pointing to the parchment.') There! 
In two words of as good old English as I ever 
penned. 

Cur. Pretty well, too, Mr. 'Squire, if we 
must be sent for to be made a laughing-stock of ! 
She shall pay for every ride she had out of my 
chaise, I promise you ! 

Swipes. And for every drop of my beer. 
Fine times, if two sober, hard-working citizens 



are to be brought here to be made the sport of a 
graceless profligate ! But we will manage his 
property for him, Mr. Currie ! We will make 
him feel that trustees are not to be trifled with ,' 

Cur. That will we ! t 

'Squire. Not so fast, gentlemen ; for the 
instrument is dated three years ago, and the 
young gentleman must already be of age, and 
able to take care of himself. Is it not so, 
Francis ? 

Frank. It is, your worship. 

'Squire. Then, gentlemen, having attended to 
the breaking of this seal according to law, you 
are released from any further trouble in the 
premises. 

{Fxit Swipes and Currie in earnest conversa^ 
tion. ) Sargent. 

THE DEBTOR AND THE DUN. 

^;2/<?r Remnant, R."^ 
Remnant. Well, I am resolved I'll collect my 
bill of Col. Blarney this time. He shan't put 
me off again. This is the twentieth time, as 
I'm a sinner, that I have dunned him ! His 
smooth words shan't humbug me now. No, 
no ! Richard Remnant is not such a goose as 
to be paid in fine words for fine clothes. ( Takes 
out a long bill and u?irolls it. ) rV pretty col- 
lection of items, that ! Why. the interest alone 
would make a good round sum. But hark ! 
He is coming. {^Hastil" -^olls up the bill and 
returns it to his pocket.'] 

Fnter Col. I^lari^ey, R. 

Blarney. Ah ! my dear Remnant, a thousand 
welcomes ! How delighted I am to see you ! 
And what stupidity on the part of my people not 
to make you enter at ~)nce ! True, I had given 
orders that they should admit nobody ; but those 
orders did not extend to you, my dear sir, for 
to you I am always at home. 

Rem. Much obliged, sir. (^Fumbling in his 
pocket for his bill. ) 

Blar. (^calling to his servants.) W/iat, ho! 



* The initials R. and L. stand for the Right and Left of the 
stage, facing- the audience. 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



417 



John ! Martha ! confound you ! I will teach 
you to keep my friend Remnant kicking his 
heels in the entry ! I will teach you to dis- 
tinguish among my visitors 1 

Rem. Indeed, sir, it is no sort of consequence. 

Blar. But it is consequence ! To tell you — 
you, one of my best friends — that I was not in ! 

Rem. I am your humble servant, sir. {^Draw- 
ing forth bill.') I JQst dropped in to hand you 
this little — 

Blar. Quick, there, quick ! A chp^'r for my 
friend Remnant ! 

Rem. I am very well as I am, sir. 

Blar. Not at all ! I would have you seatea 

Rem. It is not necessary. {^Servant hands a 
common chair.) 

Blar. Rascal ! — not that ! An arm-chair ! 

Rem. You are taking too much trouble. (^An 
arjfi- chair is placed for him. ) 

Blar. No, no ; you have been walking some 
distance, and require rest. Now be seated. 

Re7n. There is no need of it — I have but a 
single word to say. I have brought — 

Blar. Be seated, I say. I will not listen to 
you till you are seated. 

Rem. Well, sir, I will do as you wish. (^S'ts. ) 
I was about to say — 

Blar. Upon my word, friend Remnant, ydu 
are looking remarkably well. 

Rem. Yes, sir, thank heaven, I am pretty 
well. I have come with this — 

Blar, You have an admirable stock of health 
■ — lips fresh, skin ruddy, eyes clear and bright 
- — really — 

Rem. If you would be good enough to — 

Blar. And how is Madam Remnant ? 

Rem. Quite well, sir, I am happy to say. 

Blar. A charming woman, Mr. Remnant ! A 
very superior woman. 

Retr. She will be much obliged, sir. As I 
was saying — 

Blar. And your daughter^ Oaudine, how is 
she ? 

Rem. As well as can be. 

Blar. The beautiful little thing '■'^''t she is ! 
T am quite in love with her, 
27-X 



Rem. You do us too much honor, sir. I — 
you — -. 

Blar, And little Harry — does \\t make as 
much noise as ever, beating that drum of his? 

Rem. Ah, yes ! He goes on the same as ever. 
But, as I was saying — 

Blar. And your little dog, Brisk, — does he 
bark as loud as ever, and snap at the legs of 
your visitors? 

Rem. More than ever, sir, and we don't know 
how to cure him. He, he! But I dropped in 
to — 

Blar. Do not be surprised if I want par- 
ticular news of all your family, for I take the 
deepest interest in all of you. 

Rem. We are much obliged to your honor, 
much obhged. I — 

Blar. ( Giving his hand. ) Your hand upon it, 
Mr. Remnant. Don't rise. Now, tell me, do 
you stand well with the people of quahty? — 
for I can make interest for you among them. 

Rem. Sir, I am your humble servant. 

Blar. And I am yours, with all ray heart. 
(^Shaking hands again. ) 

Rem. You do me too much honor. 

Blar. There is nothing I would not do for you. 

Rem. Sir, you are too kind to me. 

Blar. At least I am disinterested ; be sure of 
that, Mr Remnant. 

Rem. Certainly I have not merited these 
favors, sir. But, sir, — 

Blar. Now I think of it, will you stay and sup 
with me ? — without ceremony, of course. 

Rem. No, sir, I must return to my shop ; I 
should have been there before this. I — 

Blar. What ho, there ! A light for Mr. Rem- 
nant ! and tell the coachman to bring the coach 
and drive him home. 

Rem. Indeed, sir, it is not necessary. I can 
walk well enough. But here — ( Offering bill. ) 

Blar. O! I shall not listen to it. Walk? 
Such a night as this ! I am your friend, Rem- 
nant, and, what is more, your debtor — vour 
debtor, I say — all the world may know it. 

Rem. Ah ! sir if you could but find it conve- 
nient — 



418 



'.VrlSCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



Blar. Hark ! 'Ihere is the coach. One more 
embrace, my dear Remnant ! (^Shakes hands 
again.) Take care of the steps. Command 
me always ; and be sure there is nothing in 
the world I would not do for you. There ! 
Good-by. 

{Exit Remnant, conducted by Col. B.) 
Altered from Moliere. 

THE DISAGREEABLE MEDDLER. 

Enter Doubledot and Slmon, Z.^ 
Doubledot. Plague take Mr. Paul Pry ! He is 
one of those idle, meddling fellows, who, having 
no employment themselves, are perpetually in- 
terfering in other people's affairs. 

Simon. Ay, and he's inquisitive into all mat- 
ters, great and small. 

Doub. Inquisitive ! Why, he makes no scruple 
of questioning you respecting your most private 
concerns. Then he will weary you to death 
with a long story about a cramp in his leg, or 
the loss of a sleeve-button, or some such idle 
matter. And so he passes his days, " dropping 
in," as he calls it, from house to house at the 
most unreasonable times, to the annoyance of 
every family in the village. But I'll soon get 
rid of him. 

Enter Pry, Z., with umbrella, which he places 
agaiiist the walL 

Pry. Ha! how d'ye do, Mr. Doubledot? 

Doub. Very busy, Mr. Pry. and have scarcely 
time to say, '^ Pretty well, thank ye." {^Turns 
from him as if writing in memo7'a7idum book. 
Simon adva?ices. ) 

Pry. Ha, Simon ! you here ? Rather early 
in the morning to be in a public house. Been 
taking a horn, eh ? Sent here with a message 
''from your master, perhaps ? I say, Simon, 
ivhen this wedding takes place, I suppose your 
master \\\\\ put you all into t^^m liveries, eh ? 

Si?non. ('an't say, sir. 

Pry. Well, I think he might. (^Touches 
Simon's sleeve.) Between ourselves, Simon, 
it won't be before you want 'em, eh ? . 



* L. signifies/^//; R., right, and C, centre ol stage. 



Simon. That's master's business, sir, a\id 
neither yours nor mine. 

Pry. Mr. Simon, behave yourself)^ or I shall 
complain of you to the colonel. By the way^ 
Simon, that's an uncommon fine leg of mutton 
the butcher has sent to your house. It weigh^^ 
thirteen pounds five ounces. 

Doub. And how do you know that? 

Pry. I asked the butcher, I say, Simon, i? 
it for roasting or boihng? 

Simon. Half and half, with the chill takep 
off. There's your answer. (Z'x// Simon, i?.) 

Pry. That's an uncommon ill-behaved ser- 
vant ! Well, since you say you are busy, I 
won't interrupt you ; only, as I was passing, I 
thought I might as well drop in. 

Doub. Then yoa may now drop out again. 
The railway 'bus will be in presently, and— 

Pry. No passengers by it to-day, for I have 
been to the hill to look for it. 

Doub. Did you expect any one by it, that 
you were so anxious ? 

Pry. No ; but I make it ray business to see 
the coach come in every day. I can't bear to 
be idle. 

Doub. Useful occupation, iiuly I 

Pry. Always see it go out : have done so 
these ten years. 

Doub. ( Going up. ) Tirescme blockh^nd ! 
Well ; good morning to yon. 

Pry. Good-morning, Mr. Doubledot. ^our 
tavern doesn't appear to b'i very full just now. 

Doub. No, no. 

Pry. Ha ! you are at a heavy rent? (^Pai^^es 
for an answer after each (Question.') I've often 
thought of that. No supporting such an estab- 
lishment without a deal of custom. If it's not 
an impertinent question, don't you find it rather 
a hard matter to make both ends meet when 
the first of the month comes round ? 

Doub. If it isn't asking an impertinent ques- 
tion, what's that to you? 

Pry. O, nothing; only some folks have the 
luck of it : they nave fust taken in a nobleman's 
family at thr. ox>]Jj>:^'nan house, tlie Green 
Dragon. 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



410 



£)ouh. Wi-i^tt's that? A nobleman at the 
Green Dragon ! 

Pry. Travehng carriage and four. Three 
servants on the dickey and an outrider, all in 
blue liveries. They dine and stop all night. 
A pretty bill there will be to-morrow, for the 
servants are not on board wages. 

Doiih. Plague take the Green Dragon ! How 
did you discover that they are not on board 
wages ? 

F7'y. I was curious to know, and asked one 
of them. You know I never miss any thing for 
want of asking. 'Tis no fault of mine that the 
nabob is not here, at your house. 

Doub. Why, what had you to do with it? 

Fry. You know I never forget my friends. 
I stopped the carriage as it was coming down 
the hill — brought it to a dead stop, and said 
that if his lordship — I took him for a lord at 
once — that if his lordship intended to make any 
stay, he couldn't do better than to go to 
Doubledot's. 

JDoul?. Well? 

Fry. Well, — would you believe it?-— (?ut pops 
a saffron-colored face from the carriage window, 
and says, ^'You're an impudent rascal for stop- 
ping my carriage, and I'll not go to Doubledot's 
if there's another innto.be found within ten 
miles of it !" 

Doub. There, that comes of your conibunded 
meddling ! If you had not interfered I should 
have stood an equal chance with the Green 
Dragon. 

Fry. I'm very sorry ; but I did ii for the best. 

Doub. Did it for the best, indeed! Deuce 
lake you ! By your officious attempts to serve, 
you do more mischief in the neighborhood than 
the exciseman, the apothecary, and the attorney, 
all together. 

Fry. Well, there's gratitude ! Now, really, 
I must go. Good-morning, (^j^// Paul Pry.) 

Doub. I'm rid of him at last, thank fortune ! 
(Pry re-enters.') Well, what now? 

Fry. I've dropped one of my gloves, Now, 
that's very odd — here it is in my hand all the 
time! 



Doub. Go to confusion ! {^Exit. ) 

Fry, Come, that's civil ! If I were tne least 
of a bore, now, it would be pardonable — But — 
Hullo ! There's the postman ! I wonder 
whether the Parkins's have got letters acrain to- 
day. They havs had letters every day this 
week, and I can't for the life of me think what 
they can— (^Fecls hastily in his pockets.) By 
the way, talking of letters, here's one I took 
from the postman last week for the colonel's 
daughter. Miss Eliza, and I have always forgot- 
ten to give it to her. I dare say it is not of 
much importance. {^Feeps into it — reads.) 
' ' Likely — unexpected— affectionate. ' ' )i can ' t 
make it out. No matter; I'll contrive tt take it 
to the house — though I've a deal to d* to-day. 
(^Runs off and returns .) Dear me ! j wad like 
to have gone without my umbrella. 

[curtain.] John Poole. 

SPARTACUS AND JOVIUS. 

Enter Spartacus, Z. ,* Jovius, R. 
Spartacus. Sp^ak, Roman ! wherefore does 
thy master send 
Thy gray hairs to the '' cut throat's " camp? 
Jovius. Brave rebel — 

Spai't. Why, that's a better name than rogue 
or bondman ; 
But in this camp I am called General. 
Jov. Brave General, — for, though a rogue and 
bondman. 
As you have said, I'll still allow you General, 
As he that beats a consul surely is. 

Spart. Say two — two consuls ; and to tha> 
e'en add 
A proconsul, three praetors, and some generals. 
Jov. Why, this is no more than true. Are 

you a Thracian? 
Spa7't. Ay. 

Jov. There is something in the air of Thrace 
Breeds valor up as rank as grass. 'Tis pi?^ 
You are a barbarian. 
Spart. Wherefore? 
Jov. Had you been born 
A Roman, you had won by this a triumj>.., 

* L. signifies left ; R., right, and C, centre of stage 



420 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



Spart. I thank the gods I am barbarian ; 
For I can better teach the grace-begot 
And heaven-supported masters of the earth 
Ho\^ a nierf^ dweller of a desert rock 
Can bow their crowned heads to his chariot- 
wheels, 
Their regal necks to be his stepping -blocks. 
But come, what is thy message ? 

Jov. Jalia, niece 
Of the prsetor, is thy captive. 

Spart. Ay. 

Jov. For whom 
Is offered in exchange thy wife, Senonc*, 
And thy young boy. 

Spart. Tell thou the praetor, Roman, 
The Thracian's wife is ransomed. 

Jov. How is that ? 

Spart. Ransomed, and by the steel, from out 
the camp 
Of slaughtered Gellius ! (^Pointing off. ) Be- 
hold them, Roman ! 

Jov. (^Looking as Spart. points.^ This is 
sorcery ! 
But name a ransom for the general's neice. 

Spart. Have I not now the praetor on the hip? 
He would, in his extremity, have made 
My wife his buckler of defence ; perhaps 
Have doomed her to the scourge ! But this is 

Roman. 
Now the barbarian is instructed. Look ! 
I hold the praetor by the heart ; and he 
Shall feel how tightly grip barbarian fingers. 

Jov. Men do not war on women. Name her 
ransom. 

Spart. Men do not war on women ! Look you : 
One day I climbed up to the ridgy top 
Of the cloud-piercing Haemus, where, among 
The eagles and the thunders, from that height, 
I looked upon the world, as far as where, 
Wrestling with storms, the gloomy Euxine chafed 
On his recoiling shores ; and where dim Adria 
In her blue bosom quenched the fiery sphere. 
Between those surges lay a land, might once 
Have matched Elysium ; but Rome had made It 
A Tartarus. In my green youth I looked 
From the same frosty peak where now I stood, 



And then beheld the glory of those larids, 
Where Peace was tinkling on the shepherd's bell 
And singing with the reapers. 
Since that glad day, Rome's conquerors had passed 
With withering armies there, and all was changed. 
Peace had departed ; howling War was there. 
Cheered on by Roman hunters. Then, methough|; 
E'en as I looked upon the altered scene, 
Groans echoed through the valleys, through 

which ran 
Rivers of blood, like smoking Phlegethons ; 
Fires flashed from burning villages, and Famine 
Shrieked in the empty cornfields ! Women and 

children. 
Robbed of their sires and husbands, left to starve — 
These were the dwellers of the land ! Say'st thou 
Rome wars not, then, on women ? 
Jov. This is not to the matter. 
Spart. Now, by Jove, 
It is ! These things do Romans. Bur me earth 
Is sick of conquerors. There is not a man. 
Not Roman, but is Rome's extremest foe : 
And such am I ; sworn from that hour I sa* 
Those sights of horror, while the gods support me, 
To wreak on Rome such havoc as Rome wreaks. 
Carnage and devastation, woe and ruin. 
Why should I ransom, when I swear to slay ? 
Begone ! This is my answer ! Bird. 

THE RESOLVE OF YKE.O\}\JJS.— Sargent. 

(Regulus, a Roman consul, having been defeatec^ 
in battle and taken prisoner by the Carthaginians, 
was detained in captivity five years, and then sent on 
an embassy to Rome to solicit peace, under a promise 
that he would return to Carthage if the proposals 
were rejected. These, it was thought, he would 
urge in order to obtain his own liberty ; but he 
urged contrary and patriotic measures on his country- 
men ; and then, having carried his point, resisted 
the persuasions of his friends to remain in Rome, 
and returned to Carthage, where a martyr's death 
awaited him. Some writers say that he was thrust into 
a cask covered over on the inside with iron spikes, 
and thus rolled down hill. The following scene pre- 
sents Regulus j ust as he has made known to his friends 
in Rome his resolution to return to Carthage. ) 

Enter Regulus, followed by Sertorius, 

Sertorius. Stay, Roman, in pity ! — if not foi 

thy life, 

For the sake of thy country, thy children, t'--^ 

wife. 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



421 



Sent, not to urge war, but to lead Rome to 

peace, 
Thy captors of Carthage vouchsafed thee release. 
Thou return' St to encounter their anger, their 

rage ;— 
No mercy expect for thy fame or thy age ! 
Regulus. To my captors one pledge, and one 

only, I gave : 
To RETURN, though it were to walk into my 

grave ! 
No hope I extended, no promise I made, 
Rome's Senate and people from war to dissuade. 
If the vengeance of Carthage be stored for me 

now, 
I have reaped no dishonor, have broken no vow. 
Sert. They released thee, but dreamed not 

that thou wouldst fulfil 
A part that would leave thee a prisoner still ; 
They hoped thy own danger would lead thee to 

sway 
The councils of Rome a far different way ; 
Would induce thee to urge the conditions they 

crave, 
If only thy freedom, thy life-blood, to save. 
Thought shudders, the torment and woe to depict 
Thy merciless foes have the heart to inflict I 
Remain with us, Regulus ! do not go back ! 
No hope sheds its ray on thy death-pointing 

track ! 
Keep faith with the faithless? The gods will 

forgive 
The balking of such. O, live, Regulus, live 1 
Reg. With the consciousness fixed in the core 

of my heart. 
That I had been playing the perjurer's part ? 
With the stain ever glaring, the thought ever 

nigh, 
That I owe the base breath I inhale to a lie ? 
O, never ! Let Carhage infract every oath. 
Be false to her word and humanity both. 
Yet never will I in her infamy share. 
Or turn for a refuge to guilt from despair ! 

Sert. O, think of the kindred and friends 

who await 
To fall on thy neck, and withhold thee from 

fate ; 



O, think of the widow, the orphans to be, 
And let thy compassion plead softly with me. 
Reg. O, my friend, thou canst soften, but 
canst not subdue \ 
To the faith of my soul I must ever be true. 
If my honor I cheapen, my conscience discrowh^ 
All the graces of life to the dust are brought 

down ; 
All creation to me is a chaos once more — 
No heaven to hope for, no God to adore ! 
And the love that I feel for wife, children, and 

friend, 
Has lost all its beauty, and thwarted its end. 
Sert. Let thy country determine. 
Reg. My country ? Her will. 

Were I free to obey, would be paramount still. 
I go to my doom for my country alone ; 
My life is my country's; my honor, my own ! 
Sert. O, Regulus ! think of the pangs in 

reserve ! 
Reg. What menace should make me from 

probity swerve ? 
Sert. Refinements of pain will these miS' 
creants find 
To daunt and disable the loftiest mind. 

Reg. And 'tis to a Roman thy fears are 

addressed ! 
Sert. Forgive me. I know thy unterrified 

breast. 
Reg. Thou know'st me but human — as weak 
to sustain 
As thyself, or another, the searchings of pain. 
This flesh may recoil, and the anguish they 

wreak 
Chase the strength from my knees, and the hue 

from my cheek ; 
But the body alone they can vanquish and kill ; 
The spirit immortal shall smile at them still. 
Then let them make ready their engines of 

dread. 
Their spike-bristling cask, and their torturing 

bed; 
Still Regulus, heaving no recreant breath. 
Shall greet as a friend the deliverer. Death ! 
Their cunning in torture and taunt shall defy, 
And hold it in joy for his country to die. 



422 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



HOW THE MONEY GOES. 

(A temperance play.) 

Characters. — Man, about th&ty -five years oid; 
his Wife ; Nellie, his daughter, ten years old ; 
Friend, man about husband s age, dressed in a 
man^of-the-world style; A. and B., tzvo young 
men, dressed as business men, should appear about 
thirty years of age. 

Scene 1. 

^Mr. L. and his wife on the stage ; Mr. x.. 

dressed for his work, and about to go. ) 

Mrs. L. Albert, I wish you would give me 
seventy-five cents. 

Mr. L. What do you want seventy-five cents 
for? 

Mrs. L. I want to get some braid for my new 
dress. 

Mr. L. I thought you had material enough on 
hand for that. 

Mrs. L. So I thought 1 had; but it looks 
rather plain with no trimming at all. You know 
I was intending to trim it with that fringe ; but 
it looks too gray, come to try it by the side of 
the dress. 

Mr. L. Haven't you something else that will 

do? 

Mrs. L. No. But, then, braid is i:heap ; and 

I can make it look quite pretty with seventy-five 

cents. 

Mr. L. Plague take these women's fashions. 

Your endless trimmings and thing-a-ma-jigs cost 

more than the dress is worth. It is nothing but 

shell out money when a woman thmks of a new 

dress. 

Mrs. L. I don't have many new dresses. I 

do certainly try to be as economical as I can. 
Mr. L. It is funny kind of economy, at all 

events. But if you must have it, I suppose you 

must. 

( Takes out his purse, and counts out carefully 
seventy-five cents, and puts his purse away, 
angrily. He starts to go; but when at the 
door, he thinks he will take his umbrella, and 
goes back for it. Finds his wife in tears, 
which she tries hastily to conceal. ) 



Mr. L. Good gracious ! Kate, I should like 
to know if you are crying at what. I said about 
the dress. 

Mrs. L. I was not crying at what }ou said , 
but you were so reluctant to grant the small 
favor ! I was thinking how hard I have to 
work. I am tied to the house. I have many 
little things to perplex me. Then to think — 

Mr. L. Pshaw! What do you want to be 
foolish for. (^Exit.) 

(^In the hall he was met by his little girl, 'Lizzie. ) 

Lizzie {holding both his hands'), O, papa, give 
me fifteen cents. 

Mr. L. What? 

Lizzie. I want fifteen cents. Please give me 
fifteen cents. 

Mr. L, What in the world do you want it for? 
Are they changing books again ? 

Lizzie. No. I want a hoop. It's splendid 
rolling ; and all the girls have one. Mr. Grant 
has some real nice ones lo sell. Please, can't I 
have one ? 

Mr. L. Nonsense ! If you want a hoop, go 
and get one off some old barrel. 1 can't afford 
to buy hoops for you to trundle about the streets. 
( Throws her off. ) 

Lizzie (Jn a pleading tone'). Please, papa? 

Mr. L. No, I told you ! 
( Slie bursts into tears, and he goes off 7nuttering, 
* ' Cry, then, and cry it out. ' ' ) 

Scene II. 

(Albert enters, his wife, entering on the opposite 
side. She kisses him as a greeting. ) 

Mrs. L. I am glad you are home thus early. 
How has business gone to-day ? 

Mr. L. Well, I am happy to say. 

Mrs. L. Are you very tired ? 

Mr. L. No ; why ? ' 

Mrs. L. I want you to go to the sewing circle 
to-night. 

Mr, L. I can't go ; I have an engagement. 

Mrs. L. I am sorry. You never go with me 
now. You used to go a great deal. 
{Just thcJi Lizzie comes in crying, dragging an old 
hoop, and rubbing her eyes. ) 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



423 



Mr. L. What is the matter with you, darhng? 
Lizzie. The girls have been laughing at me, 
and making fun of my hoo^j. They say mine is 
ugly and homely. 

Mr. L. Never mind ; perhaps we'll have a 
new one some time. 

Lizzie. Mayn't I have one now? Mr. Grant 
has one left — a real pretty one. 

Mr. L. Not now, Lizzie; not now. I'll 
think of it. 

{hizziE goes out crying^ followed by her mother. 
A frie7id of yix . L. enters.^ 

Friend. Hello, Albert ! What's up? 

Mr. L. Nothing in particular. Take a chair. 

Friend. How's business? 

Mr. L. Good. 

Friend. Did you go to the club lasc iiight ? 

Mr. L. Don't speak so loud ! 

Friend. Ha! wife don't know — does she? 
Where does she think you go? 

Mr. L. I don't know. She never asks me, 
and I am glad of it. She asked me to go with 
her to-night, and I told her I was engaged. 

FrieJid. Good ! I shan't ask you where, but 
take it for granted that it was with me. What 
do you say for a game of billiards ? 

Mr. L. Good ! I'm in foi that. {They rise 
to go.') Have a cigar, Tom ? 

Friend. Yes. ( They go out. ) 

Scene III. 
'' Two ine7i in conversation as they come upon the 
stage. ) 
B. Billiards ? No, I never play billiards. 

A. Why not? 

B. I don't like its tendency. 

A. It is only a healthy pastime. I am sure it 
has no evil tendency. 

B. I cannot assert that the game in its most 
innocent form is, of itself, an evil, to be sure. 
But, although it has the advantage of calling 
forth skill and judgment, yet it is evil when it 
excites and stimulates beyond the bounds of 
healthy recreation. 

A. That result can scarcely follow such a 
game. 



B. You are wrong tncre, ine result can 
follow in two ways. First, Ic can lead men 
away from their business. Secoadly, it leads 
those to spend money who have none to spend. 
Look at that young man just passing. He 
looks like a mechanic ; and I should judge fro ^ 
his appearance that he has a family. I see by 
his face that he is kind and generous, and wants' 
to do as near right as he can. I have watched 
him in the billiard saloon time after tnr.e, and 
only last night I saw him pay one dollar and 
forty cents for two hours' recreation. He did 
it cheerfully, too, and smiled at his loss. But 
how do you suppose it is at home ? Suppose 
his wife had asked him for a dollar or two for 
some household ornament, or his child, if ht 
has one, for a picture-book or toy, what do you 
suppose he v^^ould have answered ? This is not 
conjecture j for you and I both know plenty ol 
such cases. 

A. Upon my word, B., you speak to the 
point ; for I know that young man, and what 
you have sai^l is true. I can furnish you" with 
facts. "We have a club for a literary paper in 
our village, and last year he was one of the sub- 
scribers. This year he was obliged to discon- 
tinue. His wife was very anxious to take it ; 
but he said he could not afford the $1.25 for it. 
And his little Lizzie, ten years old, has coaxed 
her father for fifteen cents, for a hoop, in vain. 
My Nellie told me that. 

B. Yes ; and that two hours' recreation last 
night, would have paid for both. It is well for 
wives and children that they do not know where 
all the money goes. 

THE SALUTATORiAN'S DL^^TI- 
CULTIES. 

characte;rs. 
Fra.nk Clayton. Sammy Long. 

Harry Thompson. Johnny Wilson. 

Tommy Watkins. Willie Brown. 

Scene. — A stage. Curtain rises, and I rank 
Clayton co7nes forward and speaks. 
Frank. Ladies and gentlemen : Our perform- 
ances are now about to commence. We have 



424 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



spent some time in preparing for this exhibition, 
and we hope you will be pleased with all the 
performances that may be given. You well 
know that we have not had much practice in 
giving school exhibitions, and if you see any 
errors, we hope you will kindly forgive and 
overlook. We will endeavor to give our recita- 
, tions correctly, and act our parts truthfully, and 
we ask you to — and we ask you to — and — and — 
and we ask that — that — 

{Enter Harry Thompson, He comes in front of 
Frank ami commences to speaiz.~) 

'* Did you ever hear of Jehosophat Boggs, 
A dealer and raiser of all sorts of dogs ? 
No ? Then I'll endeavor in doggerel verse 
To just the main points of the story reliearse. 
Boggs had a good wife — " 

Franiz. (^SpeaJzi?ig in a loud whisper. ) Harry, 
what did you come out here for? I'm not 
through with the introductory speech yet. 

Harry. ( Turns half way round, puts his hand 
to his mouth, as if to keep the audience from hear- 
ing, and speaks in a loud whisper. ) I know you 
weren't through, but you stuck, and I thought I 
had better come on. You know my recitation 
is second on the programme, and I didn't want to 
have a bungle right at the commencement of the 
exhibition. 

Frank. Go back to your place, you little 
rascal, and don't interrupt me again. I'm 
going to speak my piece. 

Harry. ( With his hand up to hide his moutJi as 
before.) Oh, you're stuck and you'd better 
retire. ( Turns to audience and continues to speak 
his piece.) 

*' Boggs had a good wife, the joy of his life. 
There was nothing between them inclining to 

strife. 
Except her dear J.'s dogmatic employment ; 
And that, she averred, did mar her enjoyment. ' ' 

Frank. ( Whispering as before. ) I say, Harry, 

get from before me and let me speak my 
piece. 

Harry, ( Turns, puts up his hand, and whis- 



pers as before.) Oh, you keep shady until I gel 
through. (^ Turns to audience and speaks.) 

'* She often had begged him to sell off his dogs. 
And instead to raise turkeys, spring chickens 

or hogs. 
She made him half promise at no distant day 
He would sell the whole lot, not excepting old 

Tray ; 
And as good luck would have it, — ' ' 

F)'ank. {^Turning Harry by the collar and 
pulling him back. ) I tell you to get out of this 
until I have spoken my piece. 

Hai'iy. I won't. Let me alone, I say. You 
have stuck fast, and do you want to spoil the 
exhibition? Didn't you know enough to keep 
oif the stage until I had spoken my piece ? 

Frank. (^Sti II holding him by the collar.) It is 
you that are spoiling the exhibition, {^Leads him 
off the stage. ) 

Harry. {^Speaking loudly as he goes out.) 
I call this an outrage, 

Frank. (^Returning to his place and coin- 
mejicing to speak.) Ladies and gentlemen, my 
speech has been interrupted, and I will com- 
mence again. Our performances are now about 
to commence. We have spent some time in 
preparing for this exhibition, and we hope you 
will be pleased with all the performances that 
may be given. You know that we have not had 
much practice in giving school exhibitions, and 
if you see any errors, we hope you will kindly 
forgive and overlook. We will endeavor t.j 
give our recitations correctly, and act our parts 
truthfully, and we ask you to — to — and we ask 
you to — and act our parts truthfully, and we ask 
you to — and we ask you to — (//z a lower to7ic. ) 
I've forgotten it again; isn't that too bad? 
(^Speaking as before. ) And we ask you to — to 
— to — 

(^Enter Tommy Watkins. He comes in frojtt oj 
Frank, and conwiences to speak " The Ghost. ' ' ) 

" 'Tis about twenty years since Abel Law, 
A short, round, favored merry 
Old soldier of the Revolutionary 
War, 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



425 



'^is wedded lo a Uxv.:- uDominable shrew. 
ihe temper, sir, of Shakespeare's Catharine 
Could no more be compared with hers 
Than mine 
With Lucifer's. 

Frank. (^I?t a loud whisper. ) Tommy Watkins, 
get from before me. Don't you see I'm speak- 
ing ? I don't want to be interrupted — I want 
to finish my speech. 

Tomrny. (^Facing the audiejice and speaking 
in the same tone as when recitijzg his speech. ) 
Oh, you'd better quit ! You've stuck twice 
now, and if you don't go off the stage the audi- 
ence will become disgusted. 

Sammy Long. (^Seated iji the audience. ) The 
people are disgusted now with that boy's open- 
ing speech. He'd better go home, memorize 
it, and speak it some time next year. 

Tommy. There ! You hear what they say out 
there in the audience. They are disgusted, and 
they think you had better leave the stage. 

Frank. Oh, that's nobody but Sammy Long, 
and he is displeased because we didn't invite 
him to take part in the exhibition. 

Tommy. Well, I'll go ahead and speak my 
piece while you are trying to think up the words 
you have forgotten. 

Her eyes were like a weasel's ; she had a harsh 

Face, like a cranberry marsh, 

All spread with spots of white and red ; 

Hair of the color of a wisp of straw, 

And a disposition like a cross-cut saw. 

The appellation of this lovely dame 

Was Nancy; don't forget the name. 

Frank. Stop, Tommy ; I can finish my speech 
now. 

Tommy. So can I. (^Continues his recitation.^ 

His brother David was a tall. 
Good-looking chap, and that was all , 
One of your great big nothings, as they say 
Out in Rhode Island, picking up old jokes, 
And cracking them on other folks. 
Well; David undertook one night to play 



The Ghost, and frighten Abel, who, 

He knew. 

Would be returning from a journey through 

A grove of forest wood 

That stood 

Below 

The house some distance — half a mile or so. 

With a long taper 

Cap of white paper. 

Just made to cover 

A wig, nearly as large over 

As a corn-basket, and a sheet 

With both ends made to meet 

Across his breast 

(The way in which ghosts are always dressed). 

He took 

His station near 

A huge oak-tree, 

Whence he could overlook 

The road and see 

Whatever might appear. 

It happened that about an hour before, friend Abel 

Had left the table 

Of an inn, where he had made a halt, 

With horse and wagon, 

To taste a flagon 

Of malt 

Liquor, and so forth, which, being done, 

He went on, 

Caring no more for twenty ghosts 

Than if they had been so many posts 

David wag nearly tired of waiting ; 

His patience was abating ; 

At length, he heard the careless tones 

Of his kinsman's voice, 

And then the noise 

Of wagon-wheels among the stones. 

Abel was quite elated, and was roaring 

With all his might, and pouring 

Out, in great confusion. 

Scraps of old songs made in '■ ' the Revolution. " 

His head was full of Bunker Hill and Trenton ; 
And jovially he went on. 



426 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS^ 



Scaring the whip-po' -wills among the trees 
With rhymes like these : 

(^Si\^s. Air, ' ' Yankee Doodle. ' ' ) 

' ' See the Yankees 

Leave the hill, 

With baggernetts declining, 
With lopped-down hats 
And rusty guns. 

And leather aprons shining. ' ' 

**'See the Yankees '—Whoa ! Why, what is 
that?" 
Said Abel, staring like a cat, 
As, slowly, on the fearful figure strode 
Into the middle of the road. 

"" My conscience ! what a suit of clothes ! 

Some crazy fellow, I suppose. 

Hallo! friend, what's your name? by the 
powers of gin. 

That's a strange dress to travel in. " 
^* Be silent, Abel ; for I now have come 

To read your doom ; 

Then hearken, while your fate I now declare. 

I am a spirit — ' ' * ' I suppose you are ; 

But you'll not hurt me, and I'll tell you why : 

Here is a fact which you cannot deny 3 — - 

All spirits must be either good 

Or bad — that's understood — 

And be you good or evil, I am sure 

That I'm secure. 

If a good spirit, I am safe. If evil — 

And I don't know but you may be the devil — 

If that's the case, you'll recollect, I fancy, 

That I am married to your sister Nancy ! ' ' 

( Bows and turns to go off. To Fran k. ) Now , 
Frank, you can go ahead again until you come to 
ihe sticking place. I hope that, during the time 
I have generously given you by speaking my 
piece, you have been collecting your scattered 
senses, and will now be able to finish what you 
began. {^Exit Tommv. ) 

Frank. Ladies and gentlemen, I am not at 
all pleased with this way of doing business. I 
think these boys have not treated me with 
proper respect. I was selected to give the 



opening or introductory addrcbo, and you see 
how it has been done. 

Sammy. (^In the audience.) We didn't see 
very much of it. Don't you think it would be 
well enough for you to retire and memorize your 
speech ? 

Frank. You boys out there had better keep 
silent and not create a disturbance. There is 
an officer in the house. 

{^Enter Willie Brown. He comes before Frank 
and commences to speak. ) 

" 'Twas night ! The stars were shrouded in 
a veil of mist; a clouded canopy o'erhung the 
world ; the vivid lightnings flashed and shook 
their fiery darts upon the earth — " 

Frank. (^Speaking out. ) I say, Willie Brown, 
what did you come here for? I haven't finished 
the opening speech yet. 

Willie. What's the use of having an open- 
ing speech now ? The exhibition is half over. 
( Co7itinues his speech. ) 

^'The deep-toned thunder rolled along the 
vaulted sky ; the elements were in wild commo- 
tion ; the storm-spirit howled in the air ; the 
Avinds whistled ; the hail-stones fell like leaden 
balls ; the hugh undulations of the ocean dashed 
upon the rock-bound shore ; and torrents leaped 
from mountain tops ; Avhen the murderer sprang 
from his sleepless couch with vengeance on his 
brow — murder in his heart — and the fell instru- 
ment of destruction in his hand." 

Frank. Stop, I say. What kind of an exhi- 
bition will this be without an introductory 
speech ? Stop, I say. We will be the laugh- 
ing-stock of the country if we don't open out 
exhibition with an introductory speech. 

Johnny. (^In the audience.) Oh, nobody care; 
for the introductory speech. Let the speech go 
and give us some dialogues and songs. 

Willie. No dialogues and songs until I have 
finished my speech. This is my place on the 
programme. ( Continues his speech. Frank 
comes a7id stands near liim and they both speak at 
the same time, Willie giving the coJicluding por- 
tion of his speech and Frank commencing at thj 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIOK^., 



427 



first of his Opening Speech and going as far 
as he had gone before, Willie sJwidd finish 
just before Frank commences to stammer.) 

" The storm increased ; the hghtnings 
flashed with brighter glare ; the thunder 
growled with deeper energy; the winds 
whistled with a wilder fury ; the confusion of 
the hour was congenial to his soul, and the 
stormy passions which raged in his bosom. 
He clenched his weapon with a sterner grasp. 
A demoniac smile gathered on his lip ; he 
grated his teeth ; raised his arm ; sprang 
with a yell of triumph upon his victim, and 
relentlessly killed — a mosquito ! ' ' {Bows 
and turns to go off. To Frank.) Stuck 
again, my boy? If we had waited for the 
opening speech we would not have got our 
exhibition opened for a week or ten days. 

{Exit Willie.) 

Johnny, {In the audience, ) Well, we haven't 
had that introductory speech yet, and I 
guess we are not going to get it. That was 
the queerest kind of speech I ever heard. It 
began, and then balked, and then kicked up, 
and then braced its feet in front, and finally 
stopped altogether. I think we would have 
done better if we had started without any in- 
troduction, just as grandpa said the other day 
he thought Parson Goodwin ought to have 
begun his serrr.on at the conclusion and left 
out all that went before it. 

Frank. {Excitedly}^ Hold on there ! You 
say we don't need any speech and yet you 
are making a long one yourself. You said 
that I hitched like a balky horse, but you 
have kicked up your heels and cantered off 
as if somebody had touched off a pack of 
fire-crackers under you. 

{Enter Harry Thompson. He comes for- 
ward and ipeo-ks.) 

Our parts are performed and our speeches are 
ended, 

We are monarchs and courtiers and hCiOes no 
more ; 



To a much humblel station again we've de- 
scended, 
And are now but the school-boys you've known 

us before. 

Farewell then our greatness — 'tis gone like a 
dream, 
'Tis gone — but remembrance will often re- 
trace 
The indulgent applause which rewarded each 
theme, 
And the heart-cheering smiles that enlivened 
each face. 

We thank you ! Our gratitude words cannot 
tell, 
But deeply we feel it — to you it belongs ; 
With heartfelt emotion we bid you farewell. 
And our feelings now thank you much more 
than our tongues. 

We will strive to improve, since applauses thus 
cheer us, 
That our juvenile efforts may gain your kind 
looks ; 
And we hope X.k.^ convince you, the next time you 
hear us, 
That praise has but sharpened our relish for 
books. 

{Bows and turns to go off.) I have spoken 
the valedictory, and the exhibition is over. 
Ring down the curtain. 

Frank. {Excitedly^ Stop! Hold! Don't! 
I haven't finished my speech yet. 

Johnny. {In the audience}) You've given 
us enough for the present. You can finish it 
out next Christmas. 

Harry. Ring down the curtain. 

Frank. Stop ! Don't ! Don't ! I want to 
speak my piece. {A bell is rung and the cur- ' 
tai7z falls) 

Frank. {Drawing the curtain adde and 
looking out) Here's a go ! How are wt 
going to get along without an Opening 
Speech ? {Disappears) 

[Curtain.] 



il!8 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



PYGMALION AND GALATEA. 

Characters. 

Pygmalion, an Athenian sculpfor. 

Galatea, a statue. 

Costumes. — Gentleman, i?i the habit oj a 

Greek artist. Ladv, iii statues qite drapery or 

ordinary Greek costume. 

(A noted Greek sculptor, Pygmalion, makes a most 
beautiful statute of woman. Having attained per- 
fection of form lis longs to breathe life into his work, 
and blames the gods that they have limited his 
power. He stands on the stage, to the left, looking 
thoughtfull)'- up as if imploring the gods. While ap- 
parently uttering his complaints, Galatea, coming to 
life, calls to him from behind the curtain. ) 

Galatea (^from behind curtain, C.^). Pyg- 
malion ! 

Pygmalion {after a pause'). Who called? 

Gal. Pygmalion ! 

(Pygmalion tears away curtain and discovers 
Galatea alive.) 

Pyg. Ye gods ! It lives ! 

Gal. Pygmalion i 

Pyg. It speaks ! 

I have my prayer ! my Galatea breathes ! 

Gal. Where am I ? Let me speak, Pygmalion ; 
Give me thy hand — both hands — how soft and 

^^^arm ! 
Whence came I? {Descends.) 

Pyg. Why, from yonder pedestal. 

GaL That pedeptal ! Ah, yes, I recollect, 
There was a time when it was part of me. 

Pyg . That time has passed forever, thou art now 
A Hving, breathing woman, excellent' 
In every attribute of womankind. 

Gal. Where am I, then ? 

Pyg. Why, born into the world 

By miracle, 

Gal. Is this the world ? 

Pyg. It is. 

Gal. This iuum? 

Pyg. This room is a portion of a house ; 

The house stands in a grove ; the grove itself 
Is one of many, many hundred groves 
In Athens. 

GaL And is Athens, then, the world? 

Pyg. To an Athenian — yes — 

* C. indicates t<?w/>-^/ P.. ri^ht, and Z,., left of stage. 



Gal. And I am one? 

Pyg. By birth and parentage, not by descent 
Gal. But how came I to be ? 



Pyk 



Well, let me see 



Oh ! you were quarried in Pentelicus ; 
I modelled you in clay ; my artisans 
Then roughed you out in marble ; I, in turn, 
Brought my artistic skill to bear on you, 
And made you what you are, in all but life. 
The gods completed what I had begun, 
And gave the only gift I could not gi> . 

Gal. Then this is life ? 

Pyg. It is. 

Gal. And not long sinct 

I was a cold, dull stone. I recollect 
That by some means I knew that I was stone. 
That was the first dull gleam of consciousness ; 
I became conscious of a chilly self, 
A cold immovable identity. 
I knew that I was stone, and knew no more ; 
Then by an imperceptible advance, 
Came the dim evidence of outer things, 
Seen, darkly and imperfectly, yet seen ; 
The walls surrounded me, and I alone. 
That pedestal — that curtain — then a voice 
That called on Galatea ! At that word, 
Which seemed to shake my marble to the core. 
That which was dim before, came evident. 
Sounds that had hummed around me, indistinct, 
Vague, meaningless — seemed to resolve them- 
selves 
Into a language I could understand ; 
I felt my frame pervaded wdth a glow 
That seemed to thaw my marble into flesh ; 
Its cold, hard substance throbbed with active life, 
My limbs grew supple, and I moved — I lived ! 
Lived in the ecstasy of new born life ; 
Lived in the love of him that fashioned me ; 
Lived in a thousand tangled thoughts of hope, 
Love, gratitude, thoughts that resolved them- 
selves 
Into one word, that word, Pygmalion ! 

{Kneels to him.) 
Pyg. I have no words to tell thee of my joy, 
O woman — perfect in thy loveliness. 

Gal. What is that word? Am I a woman ? 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



429 



Pyg. Yes. 

Gal. Art thou a woman ? 

Pyg. No, I am a man ! 

Gal. What is a man ? 

Pyg. A being strongly framed, 

To wait on woman, and protect her from 
All ills that strength and courage can avert ; 
To work and toil for her, that she may rest ; 
To weep and mourn for her, that she may laugh ; 
To fight and die for her, that she may live ! 

Gal. (^after a pause'). I'm glad I am a woman. 
( Takes his hand — he leads her down y L. ) 

Pyg. So am I. ( They sit. ) 

Gal. That I escape the pains thou hast to bear? 

Pyg' That I may undergo those pains for tbae. 

Gal. With whom wouldst thou fight ? 

Pyg. With any man 

Whose word or deed gave Galatea pain. 

Gal. Then there are other men in this strange 
world ? 

Pyg. There are, indeed ? 

GaL And other women ? 

Pyg. {taken aback). Yes; 

Though for the moment I'd forgotten it ! 
Yes, other women. 

Gal. And for all of these 

Men work, and toil, and mourn, and weep, and 
fight ? 

Pyg. It is man's duty, if he's called upon, 
To fight for all — he works for those he loves. 

Gal. Then by thy works I know thou lovest me? 

Pyg. Indeed, I love thee. {Embraces her.) 

Gal. What kind of love ? 

Pyg' I love thee {recollecting himself and re- 
leasing her) as a sculptor loves his work ! 

{Aside. ) There is diplomacy in that reply. 

Gal. My love is different in kind to thine : 
I am no sculptor, and I've done no work. 
Yet I do love thee ; say — what love is mine ? 

Pyg. Tell me its symptoms, then I'll answer 

thee. 
Gal. Its symptons ? Let me call them as they 
come. 
A sense that I am made by thee for thee. 
That I've no will that is not wholly thine. 
That I've no thought, no hope, no enterprise, 



That does not own thee as its sovereign ; 
That I have life that I may live for thee. 
That I am thine — that thou and I are one ! 
What kind of love is that ? 

Pyg. A kind of love 

That I shall run some risk in dealing with. 

Gal. And why, Pygmalion ? 

Pyg. Such love as thine 

A man may not receive, except, indeed. 
From one who is, or is to be, his wife. 

Gal. Then I will be thy wife. 

Pyg. That may not be ; 

I have a wife — the gods allow but one. 

GaL Why did the gods then send me here to 
thee ? 

Pyg. I cannot say — unless to punish me 

{Rises.) 
For unreflecting and presumptuous prayer ! 
I pray'd that thou shouldst live. I have my 

prayer. 
And now I see the fearful consequence 
That must attend it ! 

Gal. Yet thou lovest me ? {Rises. ) 

Pyg. Who could look on that face and stifle 
love? 

Gal. Then I aip. beautiful ? 

Pyg. Indeed thou art. 

Gal. I wish that I could look upon myself, 
But that's impossible. 

Pyg. Not so, indeed, {Crosses, R.) 

This mirror will reflect thy face. Behold ! 

{Hands her a mirror frojn table, R. C.) 

Gal. How beautiful ! I am very glad to know 
That both our tastes agree so perfectly ; 
Why, my Pygmalion, I did not think 
That aught could be more beautiful than thou, 
Till I behold myself. Believe me, love, 
I could look in this mirror all day long. 
So I'm a woman. 

Pyg. There's no doubt of that ! 

Gal. Oh ! happy maid, to be so passing fair i 
And happier still Pygmalion, who can gaze 
At will upon so beautiful a face ! 

Pyg. Hush ! Galatea — in thine innocence 

( Taking glass from her. - 
Thou say est things that others would reprove. 



4:!0 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



Gal. Indeed, Pygmalion ; then it is wrong 
To think that one is exquisitely fair ? 

Pyg. Well, Galatea, it's a sentiment 
That every other woman shares with thee ; 
They think it — but they keep it to themseK \ 

Gal. And is thy wife as beautiful as I ? 

Pyg. No, Galatea ; for in forming thee 
I took her features — lovely in themselves— 
And in marble made them lovelier still. 

Gal. i^disappoittted') , Oh! then I am not orig- 
inal ? 

Pyg. Well— no— 

That is, thou httst indeed a prototype, 
But though in stone thou didst res/^mble her, 
In life, the difference is manifesl. 

Gal. Tm very glad that I am lovelier than she.. 
And am I better? (^Sits, Z.) 

Pyg. That I do not know. 

Gal. Then she has faults. 

Pyg. Very few, indeed; 

Mere trivial blemishes, that serve to show 
That she and I are of one common kin. 
I love her all the better for such faults. 

Gal, (^after apause). Tell me some faults and 
I'll commit them now. 

Pyg. There is no hurry ; they will come in 
time : {^Sits beside her, X.) 

Though for that matter, it's a grievous sin 
To sit as lovingly as we sit now. 

Gal. Is sin so pleasant ? If to sit and talk 
As we are sitting, be indeed a sin. 
Why I could sin all day. But tell me, love, 
Is this great fault that I'm committing now, 
The kind of fault that only serves to show 
That thou and I are of one common kin ? 

Pyg. Indeed, I am very much afraid it is. 

Gal. And dost thou love me better for such 
fault ? 

Pyg. Where is the mortal that could answer 
^'no?" 

Gal. Why then I'm satisfied, Pygmalion; 
Thy wife and I can start on equal terms 
She loves thee? 

Pyg. ""-^ry much. 

Gal. I'm glad of that, 

I like thy wife. 



Pyg. And why ? 

Gal. (^surprised at the qiiestioti). Our tastes 
agree 
We love Pygmalion well, and what is more, 
Pygmalion loves us both. I like thy wife ; 
I'm sure we shall agree. 

Pyg. (^aside~). I doubt it much. 

Gal. Is she within ? 

Pyg. No, she is not within. 

Gal. But she'll come back ? 

Pyg. Oh ! yes, she will come back. 

Gal. How pleased she'll be to knew when she 
returns. 
That there was someone here to fill her place. 

Pyg. (^dryly). Yes, I should say she'd be ex- 
tremely pleased. {Pises. ) 

Gal. Why, there is something in thy voice 
which says 
That thou art jesting. Is it possible 
To say one thing and mean another? 

Pyg Yes, 

It's sometimes done. 

Gal. How very wonderful ! 

So clever ! 

Pyg. And so very useful 

Gal. Yes. 

Teach me the art. 



J^yg- 



The art wil\ come in time. 



My wife v/ill not be pleased; there — that's the 
truth. 

Gal, I do not think that I sViall like thy wife. 
Tell me more of her. 

Pyg. Well— 

Gal What did she say 

When she last left thee ? 

Pyg. Humph ! Well, let me see : 

Oh ! true, she gave thee to me as my wife — 
Her solitary representative ; 
( Tenderly) She feared I should be lonely till she 

she came. 
And counselled me, if thought:s of love should 

come. 
To speak those thoughts to thee, cjs I am wont 
To speak to her. 

Gal. That's right. 

Pyg. {releasing her). But when she spoxe 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



431 



Thou wast a stone, now thou art flesh and blood, 
Which makes a diffen-nce. 

Gal. It's a strange world; 

A woman loves her husband ' ery much. 
And cannot brook that I she aid love him too ; 
She fears he will be lonely till she comes, 
And v/ill not let me che^r his loneliness : 
She bids him breathe his love to senseless stone, 
A.nd when that stone is brought to life — be dumb! 
It's a strange world, I cannot fathom it. 

( Ci'osses, R. ) 

Pyg. {aside^. Let me be brave, and put an 
end to this. 

{Aloud.) Come, Galatea — till my wife returns. 
My sister shall provide thee with a home ; 
Her house is close at hand. 

Gal. (^astonished and alarmed'). Send me not 
hence, 
Pygmalion — let me stay. 

Pyg. It may not be. 

Come, Galatea, we shall meet again. 

Gal. (^resignedly) . Do with me as thou wilt, 
Pygmalion ! 
But we shall meet again ? — and very soon ? 

Pyg. Yes, very soon. 

Gal. And when thy wife returns, 

She'll let me stay v/ith thee ? 

Pyg. I do not know. 

(^Aside. ) Why should I hide the truth from 
. her? 

{Aloud. ) Alas ! 
I may not see thee then. 

Gill. Pygmalion , 

What fearful words are these ? 

Pyg. The bitter truth. 

I may not love thee ; I must send thee hence. 

Gal. Recall those words, Pygmalion, my love ! 
Was it for this that Heaven gave me life? 
Pygmalion, have mercy on me ; se® 
I am thy work, thou hast created me ; 
The gods have sent me to thee. I am thine, 
Thine ! only and unalterably thine ! (^Music. ) 
This is the thought with which my soul is 

charged. 
Thou tellest me of one who claims thy love. 
That thou hast love for her alone ! Alas ! 



I do not know these things ; I only know 

That Heaven has sent me here to be with thee. 

Thou tellest me of duty to thy wife, 

Of vows that thou wilt love but her; alas ! 

I do not know these things ; I only know 

That Pleaven, who sent me here, has given me 

One all-absorbing duty to discharge — 

To love thee, and to make thee love again ! 

(^During this speech Pygmalion has shown 
symptoms of irresolution ; at its conclusion he 
takes her in his arms and embraces hef passion- 
ately.) W. S. Gilbert. 

QUARREL OF BRUTUS AND CASSIUS. 

(A dialogue for two men. From Act IV. ol Julius 
Ccssar. Before rendering the dialogue it is presumed 
that the participants will read the whole play from a 
volume of Shakespeare, and familiarize themselves 
with the spirit of the selection. The interest will be 
enhanced by the use of proper costumes. Where 
these cannot be hired — as they generally may in 
cities and large towns — they may be easily impro- 
vised by observing the simple Roman dress as illus- 
trated in historical works. ) 

( Curtai?t rises, reveali7ig Brutus and Cassius in 
heated conversation on the stage. ) 
Cassius. That you have wronged me doth 
appear in this ; 
You have condemned and noted Lucius Pella 
For taking bribes here of Sardinians ; 
Wherein my letters (praying on his side 
Because I knew the man) were slighted of. 
Bi'utus. You wronged yourself, to write in 

such a case. 
Cas. At such a time as this, it is not meet 
That every nice offence should bear its com- 
ment. 
Bru. Let me tell you, Cassius, you yourself 
Are much condemned to have an itching palm ; 
To sell and mart your offices for gold. 
To undeservers. 

Cas. I an itching palm ? 
You know that you are Brutus that speak this, 
Or, by the gods, this speech were else your last ! 
Bru. The name of Cassius honors this cor- 
ruption, 
And chastisement doth therefore hide its head. 
Cas. Chastisement ! 



4^2 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



JBru. Remember March, the ides of March 
remember ! 
Did not great JuHus bleed for justice' sake ? 
What villain touched his body, that did stab;, 
And not for justice ? — What ! shall one of us, 
That struck the foremost man of all this world, 
But for supporting robbers, — shall we now 
Contaminate our fingers with base bribes, 
And sell the mighty space of our large honors 
For so much trash as may be grasped thus ? — 
I had rather be a dog, and bay the moon, 
Than such a Roman ! 

Cas. Brutus, bay not me ! 
I'll not endure it. You forget yourself 
To hedge me in : I am a soldier, I, 
Older in practice, abler than yourself 
To make conditions. 

Bru. Go to ! you're not CassiusI 

Cas. I am. 

Bru. I say you are not. 

Cas. Urge me no more : I shall forget myself : 
Have mind upon your health: tempt me no fur- 
ther ! 

Bru. Away, slight man ! 

Cas. Is't possible? 

Bru. Hear me, for I will speak. 
Must I give way and room to your rash choler ? 
Shall I be frighted when a madman stares ? 

Cas. Must I endure all this ? 

Bru. All this ? Ay, more ! Fret till your 
proud heart break ! 
Go, show your slaves how choleric you are. 
And make your bondmen tremble. Must I 

budge ? 
Must I observe you ? Must I stand and crouch 
Under your testy humor ? 
You shall digest the venom of your spleen. 
Though it do split you; for, from this day forth, 
I'll use you for my mirth, — y^a, for my la.1\7^- 

ter, — 
When you are waspish. 

Cas. Is it come to this? 

Bru. You say you are a better soldier, 
I>et it appear so ; make your vaunting true. 
And it shall please me well. P'or mine own part, 
I shall be glad to learn of noble men. 



Cas. You wrong me every way ; you wrong 
me, Brutus : 
I bald an elder soldier, not a better. 
Did I say better ? 

Bru. If you did, I care not. 

Cas. When Caesar lived, he durst not thu. 
have moved me. 

Bru. Peace, peace ! you durst not so have 
tempted him. 

Cas. I durst not? 

Bru. No. 

Cas. What ! durst not tempt him? 

Bru. For your life you durst not. 

Cas. Do not presume too much upon my lov&., 
I may do that I shall be sorry for. 

Bru. You have done that you should be soiry 
for. 
There is no terror, Cassius, in your threats ; 
For I am armed so strong in honesty. 
That they pass by me as the idle wind. 
Which I respect not. I did send to you 
For certain sums of gold, which you denied 

me ; — 
For I can raise no money by vile means : 
I had rather coin my heart. 

And drop my blood for drachmas, than to wring 
From the hard hands of peasants their vile trask 
By any indirection. I did send 
To you for gold to pay my legions ; 
Which you denied me. Was that done like 

Cassius ? 
Should I liave answered Caius Cassius so ? 
When Marcus Brutus grows so covetous. 
To lock such rascal counters from his friends, 
Be ready, gods, with all your thunderbolts, 
Dash him to pieces ! 

Cas. I denied you not. 

Bru. You did. 

Cas. I did not : he was but a fool 
That brought my answer back. Brutus hatl; 

rived my heart, 
A friend should bear a friend's infirmities ; 
But Brutus makes mine greater than they are. 

Bru. I do not, till you practice them or '^"e 

Cas. You love me not. 

Bru. I do not like your faults. 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTION^. 



4|ja 



Cas. A friendly eye could never see such faults. 

Bru. A flatterer's would not, though they do 
appear 
As ' mge as high Olympus. 

Cas. Come, Antony, and young Octavius, 
come ! 
Revenge yourselves alone on Cassius ; 
For Cassius is a-weary of the world- 
Hated by one he loves ; braved by hi^ brother; 
Checked like a bondman ; all his faults observed, 
Set in a note-book, learned and conned by rote, 
To cast into my teeth. O, I could weep 
My spirit from my eyes ! — There is my dagger. 
And here my naked breast ; within, a heart 
Dearer than Plutus' mine, richer than gold ; 
If that thou be' St a Roman, take it forth : 
I, that denied thee gold, will give my heart : 
Strike as thou didst at Caesar ; for I know. 
When tnou didst hate him worse, thou lovedst 

him better 
Than ever thou lovedst Cassius. 

B7^u. Sheathe your dagger : 
Be angry when you will, it shall have scope : 
Do what you will, dishonor shall be humor. 
O, Cassius, you are yoked with a lamb. 
That carries anger as the flint bears fire ; 
Who, much enforced, shows a hasty spark. 
And straight is cold again. 

Cas. Hath Cassius lived 
To be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus, 
When grief and blood ill-tempered vexeth him ? 

Bru. When I spoke that, I was ill-tempered 
too. 

Cas. Do you confess so much? Give me 
your hand. 

Bru. And my heart, too. — 

Cas. O, Brutus ! 

Bru. What's the matter? 

Cas. Have you not love enough to oeai with 
me. 
When that rash humor which my mother gave me 
Makes me forgetful ? 

Bru. Yes, Cassius ; and, henceforth. 
When yo'i are over-earnest with you^ Brutus, 
He'll think your mother hides, and leave you so. 
^^ ^ [curtain.] Siiakef .£ARE. 



TABLEAU. — Friendship Restored. 
Curtain rises ^ revealing Brutus and Cassius 
with one hand laid upon the other' s shoulder, 
w^' 'h the right hands firmly clasp. On the face 
of each beams the ligJit of nodle love and manly 
friendship, showing their mutual joy. The bear- 
ing should be dignified and manly. 

SCENE BETWEEN HAMLET AND 
THE QUEEN. 

(Dialogue for elderly lady and young man. From 
Act III. of the tragedy of Hamlet. The part of 
HamIvET is a very difficult one to play, and should 
be thoroughly studied. The whole tragedy should 
be read from Shakespeare, any illustrated volume of 
which will suggest appropriate costume. The Ghost 
may be impersonated by a voice, unless a suitable 
costume and staging are available. ) 

( Curtain rises and reveals Hamlet approach- 
ing his Mother, who may be seated and appar- 
ently in much distress. ) 

Hamlet. Now, mother, what's the matter ? 
Queen. Hamlet, thou hast thy father much 

offended. 
Hamlet. Mother, you have my father much 

offended. 
Queejt. Come, come, you answer with an idle 

tongue. 
Ha?nlet. Go, go, you question with a wicked 

tongue. 
Queen. Why, how now, Hamlet ! 
Hamlet. What's the matter now? 
Que e 71. Have you forgot me ? 
Hamlet. No, by the rood, not so. 
You are the queen, your husband's brother's 

wife ; / 

And — would it were not so — you are my motb^#> 

Queen. Nay, then, I'll set those to you that 

can speak. 
Hamlet. Come, come, and sit you down ; 

you shall not budge : 
You go not till I set you up a glass 
Where you may sc^ the inmost part of you. 
Queen. What wilt thou do ? tliou wilt not 

murther me ? 
Help, help, ho \ 

Polonius (iehind). What, ho ' help, help, help ! 



i34 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



Hamlet {^drawing. ) How now ! a rat ? Dead, 
^"^r a ducat, dead ! 

{^Makes a passiiirough the arras. ^ 

Poconius (^behind^. O, I am slam ! 

{^Falls and dies, ^ 

Queen. O me, what hast thou done ? 

Hamlet. Nay, I know not \ 
h it the king ? 

Queen. O, what a rash and bloody deed is 
this ! 

Hamlet. A bloody deed ! almost as bad, good 
mother. 
As kill a king, and marry with his brother. 

Queen. As kill a king ! 

Hamlet. Ay, lady, 'twas my word. — 

{Lifts up the arras and discovers Polonius. ) 
Thou wretched, rash, intruding fool, farewell ! 
I took thee for thy better : 
Leave wringing of your hands : peace ! sit you 

down, 
And let me wring your heart j for so I shall, 
If it be made of penetrable stuff, # 
If damned custom have not braz'd it so 
That it is proof and bulwark against sense. 

Queen. What have I done, that thon darest 
wag thy tongue 
In noise so rude against me ? 

Hamlet. Such an act 
That blurs the grace and blush of modesty, 
Calls virtue hypocrite, takes off the rose 
From the fair forehead of an innocent love 
And sets a blister there, makes marriage-vows 
As false as dicers' oaths ; O, such a deed 
As from the body of contraction plucks 
The very soul, and sweet religion makes 
A rhapsody of words : heaven's face doth glow. 
Yea, this sondity and compound mass. 
With tristful visage, as against "he doom, 
Is thought-sick at the act. 

Queen, Ay me, what act. 
That roars so loud and thunders in the index r 

Hamlet. Look here, upon this picture, and on 
this. 
The counterfeit presentment of two ^lOthers. 
See what a grace was seated on this brow ; 
Hyperion's curls; th'j front of Jove him.«ielf; 



An eye like Mars, to threaten arid command; 

A station hke the herald Mercury 

New lighted on a heaven -kissing hill; 

A combination and a form indeed. 

Where every god did seem to set his seal. 

To give the world assurance of a man. 

This was your husband. Look you now, what 

follows : 
Here is your hj^sband ; like a mildew' d ear. 
Blasting his wholesom.e brother. Have you eyes? 
Could you on this lair j^iountain leave to feed, 
And batten on this moor ? Ha ! have you eyes ? 
You cannot call it love, for at y^ur age 
The hey-day in the blood is tame, 't's humble, 
And waits upon the judgment 5 and wh»i ruwi^- 

ment 
Would step from this to this ? 
O shame ! where is thy blush ? 

Queen. O Hamlet, speak no more ; 
Thou tarns' t mine eyes into my very soul. 
And there I see such black and grained spot? 
As will not leave their tinct. 
O, speak to me no more ; 
These words like daggers enter in mine ears.* 
No more, sweet Hamlet ! 

Hamlet. A murtherer and a villain ; 
A slave that is not twentieth part the tithe 
Of your precedent lord ; a vice of kings; 
A cutpurse of the empire and the rule, 
That from a shelf the precious diadem stole, 
And put it in his pocket ! 
Queen. No more ! 
Hamlet. A king of shreds and patches, — 

{^Enter Ghost. / 
Save me, and hover o'er me with your wings. 
You heavenly guards ! — What would your gra- 
cious figure ? 
Queen. Alas ! he's mad ! 

Hamlet. Do you not come your tardy son \.q 
chide. 
That, laps' d in time and passion, lets go by 
The important acting of your dread command "^ 
O, say ! 

Ghost. Do not forget. This visitation 
Is but to whet thy almost blunted purpose. 
But, look, amazement on thy mother sits • 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



43i» 



O, step between her and her fighting soul ' 
wSpeak to her, Hamlet. 

Hamlet. How is it with you, lady? 

Queen. Alas, how is't with you, 
That you do bend your eye on vacancy 
And with the incorporal air do hold discourse ? 

O gentle son, 
* Jpon the heat and flame of thy distemper 
Sprinkle cool patience. Whereon do you look ? 

Hamlet. On him, on him ! Look you, how 
pale he glares ! 
His form and cause conjoin 'd, preaching to 

stones. 
Would make them capable. Do not look upon 

me ; 
Lest with this piteous action you convert 
My stern effects ; then what I have to do 
Will want true color ; tears perchance for blood. 

Queen. To whom do you speak this ? 

Hamlet. Do you see nothing there ? 

Queen. Nothing at all ; yet all that is I see. 

Hamlet. Nor did you nothing hear ? 

Queen. No, nothing but ourselves. 

Hamlet. Why, look you there ! look, how it 
steals away ! 
My father, in his habit as he liv'd ! 
Look, where he goes, even now, out at the por- 
tal. {^Exit Ghost. ) 

Queen. This is the very coinage of your brain ; 
This bodiless creation ecstasy 
Is very cunning in. 

Hamlet. Ecstasy ! 
My pulse, as yours, doth temperately keep time, 
And makes as healthful music : it is not inadness 
That I have utter' d ; bring me to the test. 
And I the matter will re-word, which madness 
Would gambol from. Mother, for love of grace. 
Lay not that flattering unction to your soul. 
That not your trespass but my madness speaks ; 
It Avill but skin and film the ulcerous place. 
Whilst rank corruption, mining all within. 
Infects unseen. Confess yourself to heaven ; 
Repent what's past, avoid what is to come. 

Queen. O Hamlet, thou hast cleft my heart 
in twain. 

Hamlet, O, throw away the worser part of it, 



And live the purer with the other half. 

For this same lord, {^Pointing to Polonius. ) 

I do repent ; 

I will bestow him, and will answer well 

The death I gave him, — So, again, good-night. 

I must be cruel, only to be kind ; 

Thus bad begins, and worse remains behind. 

[curtain.] Shakespeare. 

LOCHIEL'S WARNING. 

(This piece is frequently recited by one person, 
but is much more effective in dialogue. LochieI/, a 
Highland chieftain, while on his march to join the 
Pretender, is met by one of the Highland seers, or 
prophets, who warns him to return, and not incur 
the certain ruin and disaster which await the unfor- 
tunate prince and his followers on the field of Cullo- 
den. When used as a dialogue, a blast of trumpet ia 
heard. The curtain being drawn, LochieI/ enters, 
attired in the Highland fighting costume, and follow- 
ing him should appear in the doorway of the stage 
two or three armed Scotch soldiers to give the idea 
of a large number behind them. The SEER meets 
him from the other direction, dressed in flowing 
robes, and with long v/hite hair and beard, and, 
raising his hands in the attitude of warning, speaks 
imploringly as follows : ) 

Seer. 

LOCHIEL, Lochiel, beware of the day 
When the Lowlands shall meet thee in 
battle array ! 
For a field of the dead rushes red on my sight, 
And the clans of Culloden are scattered in flight : 
They rally, they bleed, for their country and 

crown, — 
Woe, woe to the riders that trample them down I 
Proud Cumberland prances, insulting the slain, 
And their hoof-beaten bosoms are trod to the 

plain. 
But, hark ! through the fast-flashing lightning of 

war. 
What steed to the desert flies frantic and far ? 
'Tis thine, O Glenullin ! whose bride shall await, 
Like a love-lighted watch-fire, all night at the 

gate. 
A stted comes at morning : no rider is there ; 
But its bridle is red with the sign of despair ! 
Weep, Albin ! to death and captivity led ! 
O ! weep ! but thy tears cannot number the dead ! 
For a merciless sword on Culloden shall wave— 
Culloden, that reeks with the blood o{ the brave \ 



436 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



Lochiel. 
Go preach to the coward, thou death-telling seer ! 
Or, if gory Culioden so dreadful appear, 
Draw, dotard, around thy old wavering sight, 
This mantle, to cover the phantoms of fright ! 

Seer. 

Ha ! laugh' St thou, Lochiel, my vision to scorn? 
Proud bird of the mountain, thy plume shall be 

torn ! 
Say, rushed the bold eagle exultingly forth. 
From his home in the dark-rolling clouds of the 

North ? 
Lo ! the death-shot of foemen out-speeding, he 

rode 
Companionless, bearing destruction abroad : 
But down let him stoop from his havoc on high ! 
Ah ! home let him speed, for the spoiler is nigh. 
Why flames the far summit? Why shoot to the blast 
Those embers, like stars from the firmament cast? 
'Tis the fire-shower of ruin, all dreadfully driven 
From his eyry, that beacons the darkness of 

Heaven. 
O, crested Lochiel ! the peerless in might, 
Whose banners arise on the battlements' height, 
Heaven's fire is around thee, to blast and to burn ; 
Return to thy dwelling ! all lonely return ! 
For the blackness of ashes shall mark where it 

stood, 

And a wild mother scream o'er her famishing 

brood ! 

Lochiel. 

False Wizard, avaunt ! I have marshall'd my clan : 
Their swords are a thousand; their bosoms are one: 
They are true to the last of their blood, and 

their breath, 
And like reapers, descend to the harvest of death. 
Then welcome be Cumberland's steed to the 

shock ! 
Let him dash his proud foam like a wave on the 

rock ! 
But woe to his kindred, and woe to his cause, 
When Albin her claymore indignantly draws ; 
When her bonneted chieftains to victory crowd, 
Clanronald the dauntless, and Moray the proud; 
All plaided, and plum'd in their tartan array — 



Seer. 
Lochiel, Lochiel, beware of the day ! 
For, dark and despairing, my sight I may seal. 
Yet man cannot cover what God would reveal : 
'Tis the sunset of life gives me mystical lore. 
And coming events cast their shadows before. 
I tell thee, Culioden' s dread echoes shall ring 
With the bloodhounds that bark for thy fugitive 

king. 
Lo ! anointed by Heaven with vials of wrath, 
Behold where he flies on his desolate path ! 
Now in darkness, and billows, he sweeps from 

my sight : 
Rise ! Rise ! ye wild tempests, and cover his 

flight ! 
'Tis finish' d. — Their thunders are hush'd on the 

moors ; 
Culioden is lost, and my country deplores. 
But where is the iron-bound prisoner ! Where? 
For the red eye of battle is shut in despair. 
Say, mounts he the ocean -wave, banish' d, for- 
lorn, 
Like a limb from his country, cast bleeding, and 

torn? 
Ah ! no ; for a darker departure is near ; 
The war-drum is muffled, and black is the 

bier ; 
His death-bell is tolling ; oh ! mercy, dispel 
Yon sight, that it freezes my spirit to tell ! 
Life flutters, convuls'd in his quivering limbs. 
And his blood-streaming nostril in agony swims. 
Accurs'd be the fagots that blaze at his feet, 
Where his heart shall be thrown ere it ceases to 

beat. 
With the smoke of its ashes to poison the gale — 

Lochiel. 
Down, soothless insulter ! I trust not the tale . 
For never shall Albin a destiny meet 
So black with dishonor — so foul with retreat. 
Tho' his perishing ranks should be strow'd in 

their gore. 
Like ocean -weeds heap'd on the surf-beater 

shore, 
Lochiel, untainted by flight, or by chains, 
^^hile \\^e, kindling of life in his bosom remams. 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



437 



Shall victor exult, or in death be laid low, 
With his back to the field, and his feet to the 

foe! 
And, leaving in battle no blot on his name, 
Look proudly to heaven from the death-bed of 

fame. Campbell. 

[curtain.] 

TABLEAU. 

A wery pretty tableau may be quickly, iformed 
behind the curtain, and at the close of applause 
from the audience the curtain be raised, showing 
LocHiEL standing proud and imperious, his clan 
gathered around him, and the old Seer upon his 
knees, head thrown back, with hands and face 
raised imploringly. 

MARY STUART, QUEEN OF 
SCOTLAND. 

(Adapted from Schiller, Scene II. , Act III. Arranged 
for two ladies and two gentleman. 

Characters : 
Mary, Queen of Scotland. 
Elizabeth, Queen of England. 
Robert, Earl of Leicester. 
Talbot, a friend of Mary. 
Costumes. — Elizabethan age of Engla7id and 
Scotland. 
Enter Mary and Talbot. 
Mary. Talbot, Elizabeth will soon bf? iicre. 
I cannot see her. Preserve me from thi? hateful 
interview. 

Talbot. Reflect a while. Recall thy courage. 
The moment is come upon which everything 
depends. Incline thyself; submit to the neces- 
sity of the moment. She is the stronger. 
Thou must bend before her. 
Mary. Before her ? I cannoi ! 
Tal. Thou must do so. Speak to Ler humbly \ 
invoke the greatness of her generous heart ; 
dwell not too much upon thy rights. But see 
first how she bears herself towards thee. I my- 
self did witness her emotion on reading thy 
letter. The tears stood in her eyes. Her heart, 
'tis sure, is not a stranger to compassion ; there- 
fore place more confidence in her, and prepare 
thyself for her reception^ 



Mary. (^Taking his hand.') Thou wert ever 
my faithful friend. Oh, that I had always re- 
mained beneath thy kind guardianship, Talbot ! 
Their care of me has indeed been harsh. Who 
attends her ? 

Tal. Leicester. You need not fear him ; the 
earl doth not seek thy fall. Behold, the queen 
approaches. (^Retires.) 

Enter Elizabeth and Leicester. 

Mary. {Aside. ) O heavens ! Protect me ! 
her features say she has no heart ! 

Elizabeth. {To Leicester.) Who is this 
woman? {Feigning surprise.') Robert, who 
has dared to — 

Lei. Be not angry, queen, and since heaven 
has hither directed thee, suffer pity to triumph 
in thy noble heart. 

Tal. {Advancing. ) Deign, royal lady, to cast 
a look of compassion on the unhappy woman 
who prostrates herself at thy feet. 

[Mary, having attempted to approach Elizabeth, 

stops short, overcome by repugnance, her gestures 

indicating inter Jial struggle. '\ 

Eliz. {Haughtily.') Sirs, which of you spoke 
of humility and submission ? I see nothing but 
a proud lady, whom misfortune has not succeeded 
in subduing. 

Mary. {Aside.) I will undergo even this last 
degree of ignominy. My soul discards its noble 
but, alas ! impotent pride. I will seek to forget 
who I am, what I have suffered, and will humble 
myself before her who has caused my disgrace. 
( Turns to Elizebeth. ) Heaven, O sister, has 
declared itself on thy side, and has graced thy 
happy head with the crown of victory. {Kneel- 
ing. ) I worship the Deity who hath rendered 
thee so powerful. Show thyself noble in thy 
triumph, and leave me not overwhelmed by 
shame ! Open thy arms, extend in mercy to me 
thy royal hand, and raise me from my fearful fall. 

Eliz. {Drawing back. ) Thy place, Stuart, is 
there, and I shall ever raise my hands in grati- 
tude to heaven that it has not willed that I 
should kneel at thy feet, as thon now crouchest 
\Xi the dust fit mi»©- 



438 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



Mary-. ( With great e7notio?i. ) Think of the 
vicissitudes of all things human ! There is a 
Deity above who punisheth pride. Respect the 
Providence who now doth prostrate me at thy 
feet. Do not show thyself insensible and piti- 
less as the rock, to which the drowning man, 
with failing breath and outstretched arms, doth 
cHng. My life, my entire destiny, depend upon 
my words and the power of my tears. Inspire 
my heart, teach me to move, to touch thine own. 
Thou turnest such icy looks upon m.e, that my 
soul doth sink within me, my grief parches my 
lips, and a cold shudder renders my entreaties 
mute. {J^ises. ) 

E/h. ( Coldly. ) AVhat wouldst thou say to me ? 
thou didst seek converse with me. Forgettmg 
that I am an outraged sovereign, I honor thee 
with my royal presence. 'Tis in obedience to 
a generous impulse that I incur the reproach of 
having sacrificed my dignity. 

Maiy. How can I express myself? how shall 
I so choose every v.'ord that it may penetrate, 
without irritating, thy heart? God of mercy! 
aid my lips, and banish from them whatever may 
offend my sister ! I cannot relate to thee my 
woes without appearing to accuse thee, and this 
IS not my wish. Towards me thou hast been 
neither merciful nor just. I am thine equal, 
and yet thou hast made me a prisoner, a sup- 
pliant, and a fugitive. I turned to thee for aid, 
and thou, trampling on the rights of nations and 
of hospitality, hast immured me in a living tomb ! 
Thou hast abandoned me to the most shameful 
need, and finally exposed me to the ignominy of 
a trial ! But, no more of the past-; we are now 
face to face. Display the goodness of thy heart ! 
tell me the crimes of which I am accused ! 
Wherefore didst thou not grant me this friendly 
audience when I so eagerly desired it ? Years 
of misery would have been spared me, and this 
painful interview would not have occurred in 
this abode of gloom and horror. 

Eliz. Accuse not fate, but thine own wayward 
soul and the unreasonable ambition of thy house. 
There was no quarrel between us until thy most 
worthy ally inspired thee with the mad and rash 



desire to claim for thyself the royal titles and 
my throne ! Not satisfied with this, he then 
urged thee to make war against me, to threaten 
my crown and my life. Amidst the peace which 
reigned in my dominions, he fraudulently excited 
my subjects to revolt. But heaven doth protect 
me, and the attempt was abandoned in despair. 
The blow was aimed at my head, but 'tis on 
thine that it will fall. 

Mary. I am in the hand of my God, but thoif 
wilt not exceed thy power by committing a deed 
so atrocious ? 

E/iz. What could prevent me ? Thy kinsman 
has shown monarchs how to make peace v/ith 
their enemies ! W^ho would be surety for thee 
if, imprudently, I Avere to release thee? How 
can I rely on thy pledged faith ? Nought but 
my power renders me secure. No ! there can be 
no friendship with a race of vipers. 

Maiy. Are these thy dark suspicions? To 
thine eyes, then, I have ever seemed a stranger 
and an enemy. If thou hadst but recognized 
me as heiress to thy throne — as is my lawful 
right — love, friendship, would have made me thy 
friend — thy sister. 

Eliz. What affection hast thou that is not 
feigned ? I declare thee heiress to my throne ! 
Insidious treachery ! In order, forsooth, to 
overturn the state, and — wily Armida that thou 
art — entrap within thy snares all the youthful 
spirits of my kingdom, so that during my own 
lifetime all eyes would turn towards thee — the 
new constellation ! 

Mary. Reign on in peace ! I „enounce all 
right to thy sceptre. The wings of my ambi- 
tion have long drooped, and greatness has no 
longer charms for me. ' Tis thou who hast it all ; 
I am now only the shade of Mary Stuart ! My 
pristine ardor has been subdued by the ignominy 
of my chains. Thou hast nipped my existence 
in the bud. But pronounce those magnanimous 
words for which thou cam'st hither ; for I will 
not believe that thou art come to enjoy the base 
delight of insulting thy victim ! Pronounce the 
words so longed for, and say, ''Mary, thou art 
free ! Till now thou hast known only my power ; 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



439 



aow know my greatness. ' ' Woe to thee, shouldst 
thou not depart from me propitious, beneficent, 
like an invoked Deity. O sister ! not for all 
England, not for all the lands the vast ocean 
embraces, would I present myself to thee with 
the inexorable aspect with which thou now re- 
gardest me ! 

Eiiz. At length thou confessest thyself van- 
quished ! Hast thou emptied thy quiver of the 
artifices it contained ? Hast thou no more as- 
sassins ? Does there not remain to thee one 
single hero to undertake in thy defence the 
duties of knight-errant? Gone, Mary, gone 
forever are those days. Thou canst no longer 
seduce a follower of mine; other causes now 
inflame men's hearts. In vain didst thou seek a 
fourth husband among my English subjects; 
they knew too well that thou murderest thy 
husbands, as thou dost thy lovers. 

Majj. {^Shuddering. ^ O heavens! sister! 
Grant me resignation. 

Eliz. {To Leicester, with contempt.) Earl, 
are these the boasted features, on which no mortal 
eye could gaze with safety? Is this the beauty to 
which no other woman's could be compared ? In 
sooth, the reputation appears to have been easily 
won. To be thus celebrated as the reigning beauty 
ol the universe seems merely to infer that she has 
been universal in the distribution of her favors. 

Mary. Ah, 'tis too much. 

Eliz, ( With a smile of satisfaction. ) Now thou 
showest thyself in thine own form. Till now 
thou hast worn a mask. 

Mary. ( With dignified pride, ) They were 
mere human errors that overcame my youth. 
My grandeur dazzled me. I have nought to 
conceal, nor deny my faults ; my pride has ever 
disdained the base artifices of vile intriguers. 
The worst I ever did is known, and I may boast 
myself far better than my reputation. But woe 
to thee, thou malignant hypocrite, if thou ever 
lettest fall the mantle beneath which thou con- 



cealest thy shameless amours i Thou, the 
daugnter of Anne Boleyn, hast not inherited 
virtue ! The causes that brought thy sinful 
mother to the block are known to all. 

Tal. {Stepping between them. ) Is this, O Mary, 
thine endurance ? Is this thy humility ? f 

Mary. Endurance? I have endured all thcQ 
a mortal heart can bear. Hence, abject humil- 
ity ! Insulted patience, get ye from my heart ! 
And thou, my long pent-up indignation, break 
thy bonds, and burst forth from thy lair .! Oh, 
thou gavest to the angry serpent his deadly 
glance ; arm my tongue with poisonous stings. 

Tal. {To Elizabeth.) Forgive the angry 
transports which thou hast thyself provoked. 

Lei, {hiducing Elizabeth /d withdraw.') 
Hear not the ravings ol a distracted woman. 
Leave this ill — 

Mary. The throne of England is profaned by 
a base-born — the British nation is duped by a 
vile pretender ! If right did prevail, thou wouldst 
be grovelling at my feet, for 'tis I who am thy 
sovereign. (Elizabeth reti?'es. Leicester aitd 
Talbot follow.) She departs, burning with 
rage, and with bitterness of death at heart. 
Now happy I am ! I have degraded her in 
Leicester's presence. At last ! at last ! After 
long years of insult and contumely, I have at 
least enjoyed a season of triumph. {Sinks upon 
the floor.) [curtain.] Schiller. 

TABLEAU. 
Curtain rises. Mary reclines upon the floor , 
disheveled hair, face bwied in hands, shaking 
with emotioft. Elizabeth stands glaring at her, 
face livid with anger, clenched fists. Leicester 
is restraining her ; his hand is raised as if admon- 
ishing her not to yield to her rage and do a7i act 
unbecoming a queen. Talbot leans over Mary, 
to whom he appears to offer words of hope and 
consolation, at the same time lifting his right hand 
imploringly to Elizabeth. 



440 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



A CASE OF INDIGESTION. 

Scene — Dr. Gregory's study. A table and 

two chairs. 
Enter Patient {a?t unhappy Scotch merchant) 

from left. D. Gregory discovered reading 

{on right). 

Patient. Good morning, Dr. Gregory ! I'm 
just come into Edinburgh about some law 
business, and I thought when I was here, at 
any rate, I might just as weel take your ad- 
vice, sir, about my trouble. 

Doctor. Pray, sir, sit down. (Patient sits 
on left) And now, my good sir, what may 
your trouble be ? 

Pa. Indeed, doctor, Tm not very sure, but 
I'm thinking it's a kind of weakness that 
makes me dizzy at times, and a kind of pink- 
ling about my stomach — Pm just na right. 

Dr. You are from the west country, I should 
suppose, sir? 

Pa. Yes, sir ; from Glasgow. 

Dr. Ay, pray, sir, are you a glutton ? 

Pa, Heaven forbid, sir ! I am one of the 
plainest men living in the west country. 

Dr. Then, perhaps, you are a drunkard ? 

Pa. No, Dr. Gregory, thank Heaven, no 
one can accuse me of that ! Fm of the dis- 
senting persuasion, doctor, and an elder, so 
you may suppose I'm na drunkard. 

Dr. I'll suppose no such thing till you 
tell me your mode of living. I'm so much 
puzzled with your symptoms, sir, that I should 
wish to hear in detail what you do eat and 
drink. When do you breakfast, and what do 
you take at it ? 

Pa. I breakfast at nine o'clock; take a cup 
of coffee, and one or two cups of tea, a cou- 
ple of eggs, and a bit of ham or kippered sal- 
mon, or, maybe, both, if they're good, and 
two or three rolls and butter. 

Dr. Do you eat no honey, or jelly, or jam, 
at breakfast ? 

Pa. O, yes, sir ! but I don't count that as 
anything. 



Dr. Come, this is a very modetate break- 
fast. What kind of a dinner do you make? 

Pa. O, sir, I eat a very plain dinner, in- 
deed. Some soup, and some fish, and a little 
plain roast or boiled; for I dinna care for 
made dishes ; I think, some way, they never 
satisfy the appetite. 

Dr. You take a little pudding, then, and 
afterwards some cheese ? 

Pa. O, yes! though I don't care much 
about them. 

Dr. You take a glass of ale or porter with 
your cheese ? 

Pa. Yes, one or the other; but seldom 
both. 

Dr. You west-country people generally 
take a glass of Highland whiskey after din- 
ner? 

Pa. Yes, we do ; it's good for digestion. 

Dr, Do you take any wine during dinner? 

Pa. Yes, a glass or two of sherry; but I'm 
indifferent as to wine during dinner. I drink 
a good deal of beer. 

Dr. What quantity of port do you drink ? 

Pa. O, very little ; not above half a dozen 
glasses or so. 

Dr, In the west country, it is impossible, I 
hear, to dine without punch ? 

Pa. Yes, sir ; indeed, 'tis punch we drink 
chiefly; but, for myself, unless I happen to 
have a friend with me, I never take more 
than a couple of tumblers or so, and that's 
moderate. 

Dr. O, exceedingly moderate, indeed ! 
You then, after this slight repast, take some 
tea and bread and butter ? 

Pa. Yes, before I go to the counting-house 
to read the evening letters. 

Dr. And on your return you take supper, 
I suppose? 

Pa. No, sir, I canna be said to take supper ; 
just something before going to bed; — a riz- 
zered haddock, or a bit of toasted cheese, or 
di. half-hundred oysters, or the like o'that, «^nd. 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS, 



441 



/naybe, two-thirds of a bottle of ale; but I 
take no regular supper. 

Dr. But you take a little more punch after 
that ? 

Pa, No, sir; punch does not agree with 
nie at bedtime. I take a tumbler of warm 
v\'hiskey-toddy at night; it is lighter to sleep 
on. 

Dr. So it must be, no doubt. This, you 
say, is your everyday life ; but, upon great 
occasions, you perhaps exceed a little ? 

Pa. No, sir; except when a friend or two 
dine with me, or I dine out, which, as I am a 
sober family man, does not often happen. 

Dr. Not above twice a week ? 

Pa, No, not oftener. 

Dr. Of course you sleep well and have a 
good appetite ? 

Pa. Yes, sir, thank Heaven, I have; in- 
deed, any ill health that I have is about meal- 
time. 

Dr. (Rising with a severe air — the Patient 
also rises}) Now, sir, you are a very pretty 
fellow, indeed ! You come here and tell me 
you are a moderate man ; but, upon exam- 
ination, I find, by your own showing, that 
you are a most voracious glutton. You said 
you were a sober man; yet, by your own show- 
ing, you are a beer-swiller, a dram-drinker, a 
wine-bibber, and a guzzler of punch. You 
tell me you eat indigestible suppers, and swill 
toddy to force sleep. I see that you chew 
tobacco. Now, sir, what human stomach can 
stand this ? Go home, sir, and leave your 
present course of riotous living, and there are 
hopes that your stomach may recover its tone, 
and you be in good health, like your neigh- 
bors. 

Pa. I'm sure, doctor, Fm very much 
obliged to you. {Taking out a bundle of 
bank notes) I shall endeavor to 

Dr. Sir, you are not obliged to me : — put 
up your money, sir. Do you think I'll take 
^ tee for telling you what you know as well 



as myself? Though you're no physician, sir, 
you are not altogether a fool. Go home, sir, 
and reform, or, take my word for it, your life 
is not worth half a year's purchase. 

Pa. Thank you, doctor, thank you. Good- 
day, doctor. 

{Exit on right, followed by Doctor.) 

MR. CROSS AND SERVANT JOHN. 

Mr. Cross. Why do you keep me knocking 
all day at the door ? 

John. I was at work, sir, in the garden. As 
soon as I heard your knock, I ran to open 
the door with such haste that I fell down and 
hurt myself 

Mr, C. Why didn't you leave the door 
open? 

John, Why, sir, you scolded me yesterday 
because I did so. When the door is open, 
you scold; when it is shut, you scold. I 
should like to know what to do ? 

Mr, C. What to do ? What to do, did you 
say? 

John. I said it. Shall I leave the door 
open? 

Mr. C. No. I tell you, no ! 

John. Shall I keep the door shut ? 

Mr. C, Shall you keep the door shut ? No, 
I say. 

John, But, sir, a door must be either open 
or 

Mr, C. Don't presume to argue with me, 
fellow ! 

John. But doesn't it hold to reason that a 
door 

Mr. C. Silence, I say. Hold your tongue ! 

John. And I say that a door must be either 
open or shut. Now, how will you have it ? 

Mr. C, I have told you a thousand times, 
you provoking fellow — I have told you that I 

wished it But what do you mean by 

cross questioning me, sir? Have you trimmed 
the grape-vine, as I ordered you ? 

John, I dicj that three days ago, sit. 



442 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



Mr. C. Have you washed the carriage ? 
Eh? 

JoJm. I wash'^d it before breakfast, sir, as 
usual. 

Mr. C, You haven't watered the horses to- 
day ! 

John. Go and see, sir, if you can make 
them drink any more. They have had their 
fill. 

Mr. C. Have you given them their oats ? 

John. Ask William ; he saw me do it. 

Mr. C. But you have forgotten to take the 
mare to be shod. Ah! I have you now! 

JoJin. I have the blacksmith^s bill here. 

Mr. C. My letters ! — Did you take them to 
the post-office ? Ha ! You forgot, did you ? 

John. I forgot nothing, sir. The letters 
were in the mail ten minutes after you handed 
them to me. 

Mr. C. How often have I told you not to 
scrape on that abominable violin of yours ? 
And yet this very morning 

John. This morning ? You forget, sir. You 
broke the violin all to pieces for me last Sat- 
urday night. 

Mr. C. I'm glad of it ! Come, now ; that 
wood which I told you to saw and put into 
the shed — why is it not done? Answer me! 

John. The wood is all sawed, split, and 
housed, sir ; besides doing that, I have wa- 
tered all the trees in the garden, dug over 
three of the beds, and was digging another 
when you knocked. 

Mr. C. Oh, I must get rid of this fellow^ 
He will plague my life out of me. Out of my 
sight, sir ! ^John rushes out) 

HOW TO BREAK BAD NEWS. 

Mr. H. Ha, steward ! how are you, my old 
boy? How do things go on at home ? 

Steward. Bad enough, your honor; the 
magpie's dead. 

Mr. H. Poor Mag ! so he's gone. How 
came he to die ? 



Steward. Over-ate himself, sir. 

Mr. H. Did he, indeed ? a greedy villain ! 
Why, what did he get he liked so well ? 

Steward. Horse-flesh, sir ; he died of eat- 
ing horse-flesh. 

Mr. H, How came he to get so much 
horse-flesh? 

Steward. All your father's horses, sir. 

Mr. H. What ! are they dead, too ? 

Steward. Ay, sir ; they died of over-work. 

Mr. H. And why were they over-worked, 
pray. 

Steward. To carry water, sir. 

Mr. H. To carry water ! What did they 
carry water for ? 

Steward. Sure, sir, to put out the fire. 

Mr. H. Fire! What fire? 

Steward. Oh, sir, your father's house is 
burned to the ground. 

Mr. H. My father's house ! How come it 
set on fire ? 

Steward. I think, sir, it must have been the 
torches. 

Mr. H. Torches ! What torches ? 

Steward. At your mother's funeral. 

Mr. H. Alas ! my mother dead ? 

Steward. Ah, poor lady, she never looked 
up after it ! 

Mr. H. After what ? 

Steivard. The loss of your father. 

Mr. H. My father gone, '"oo ? 

Steward. Yes, poor man, he took to his 
bed soon as he heard of it. 

Mr. H. Heard of what ? 

Steward. The bad news, sir, an' please 
your honor. 

Mr. H. What ! more miseries ? more bati 
news ? No ! you can add nothing more ! 

Steward. Yes, sir; your bank has failed, 
and your credit is lost, and you are not worth 
a dollar in the world. I made bold, sir, to 
come to wait on you about it, for I thought 
you would like to hear the news. 



\ 



I 



HOW TO DRAFT 



Constitution and By-Laists 



FOR THE 



ORGANIZATION AND CONDUCT OF LITERARY 

SOCIETIES. 



TT LL permanent associations formed for 

h\ mutual benefit must have a Constitution 

by which they shall be governed. 

Where it is intended to organize a society for 
the intellectual improvement or social enjoy- 
ment of its members, a number of persons meet 
together and select a name for the organization. 
Th^ next step is to appoint a committee, whose 
duty it shall be to prepare a Constitution and 
code of By-Laivs for the society. These must 
be reported to the society at its next meeting, 
and must be adopted by the votes of a majority 
of that body before they can take effect. 

The Constitution consists of the rules which 
form the foundation upon which the organiza- 
tion is to rest. It should be brief and explicit. 
It should be considered and adopted section by 
section ; should be recorded in a book for that 
purpose, and should be signed by all the mem.- 
bers of the society. 

Amendments to the Constitution shouia be 
adopted in the same way, and should be signed 
by each member of the society. 

In addition to the Constitution, it is usual 
»-.o adopt a series of minor rules, which should 
<3e explanatory of the principles of the Constitu- 
tion. These are termed By-Laws, and should 
be recorded in the same book with the Constitu- 
tion, and immediately after it. New by-laws 
maybe added from time to time, as the necessity 
iOr them may arise. It is best to have as few as 
possible. They should be brief, and as clear 
that their meaning may be easily comprehended 
^.nd should govern the action of the bod^. 



CONSTITUTION. 

As growth and development of mind, together 
with readiness and fluency of speech, are the 
result of investigation and free discussion of 
religious, education, political, and other topics, 
the undersigned agree to form an association, 
and for its government, do hereby adopt the 
following Constitution : 

Article I. — The name and title of this 
organization shall be 

*'The Philomathian Literary Society," 

and its objects shall be the free discussion of any 
subject coming before the meeting for the pur- 
pose of diffusing knowledge among its members, 

Article II. — The officers of the Association 
shah consist of a President, two Vice- Presidents, 
a Corresponding Secretary, a Recording Secre- 
tary, a Treasurer and a Librarian, who shall be 
elected annually by ballot, on the first Monday 
in January of each year, said officers to hold 
their position until their successors are elected. 

Article III. — It shall be the duty of the 
President to preside at all public meetings of the 
Society. The first Vice-President shall preside 
in the absence of the President, and in case of 
the absence of both President and Vice-Presi- 
dent, it shall be the duty of the second Vice- 
President to preside. 

The duty of the Secretary shall be to conduct 
the correspondence, keep the records of the 
Society, and read at each meeting a report of 
the work done at the preceding meeting. 

Th? Treasurer sjiall keep the funds of th^ 



4U 



HOW TO DRAFT CONSTITUTION AND BY-LAWS. 



Society, making an annual report of all moneys 
received, disbursed, and the amount on hand. 

It shall be the duty of the Librarian to keep, 
in a careful manner, all books, records and 
manuscripts in the possession of the Society. 

Article IV. — There shall be appointed by the 
President, at the first meeting after his election, 
the following standing committees, to consist of 
three members each, namely : On lectures, 
library, finance, and printing, whose duties shall 
be designated by the President. 

The question for debate at the succeeding 
meeting shall be determined by a majority vote 
of the members present. 

Article V. — Any lady or gentleman may 
become a member of this Society by the consent 
of the majority of the members present, the 
signing of the Constitution, and the payment of 
two dollarr, as membership fee. It shall be the 
privilege of the Society to elect any person 
whose presence may be advantageous to the 
Society, an honorary member who shall not be 
required to pay membership fees or dues. 

Article VI. This Association shall meet 
weekly, and at such other times as a majority, 
consisting of at least five members of the Associa- 
tion, shall determine. The President s?iall be 
authorized to call special meetings upon the 
written request of any five members of the 
Society, at which meetings one-third of the 
members shall be sufficient to constitute a 
quorum for the transaction of business. 

Article VII. — It shall be the duty of the 
Finance Committee to determine the amount of 
dues necessary to be collected from each member, 
and to inform the Treasurer of the amount, who 
shall promptly proceed to collect the same at 
such times as the committe may designate. 

Article VIII. — The parliamentary rules and 
general form of conducting public meetings, as 
shown in *' Cushing's Manual of Practice," 
shall be the standard authority in governing the 
deliberations of this Association. 

Article IX. — Any member neglecting tc pay 
dues, or who shall be guilty of improper con- 
duct, calculated >) bring this Association into 



disrepute, shall be expelled from the membership 
of the Society by a two-thirds vote of the 
members present at any regular meeting. No 
member shall be expelled, however, until he 
shall have had notice of such intention on the 
part of the Association, and has been given an 
opportunity of being heard in his own defense. 
Article X. — By giving written notice of 
change at any regular meeting, this Constitution 
may be altered or amended at the next stated 
me jng by a ^'ote of two-thirds of the members 
present. 

BY-LAWS. 

Rule i.- Wo question shall be stated unless 
moved by two members, nor be open for con- 
sideration until stated by the chair. When a 
question is before the Society, no motion shall be 
received, except to lay on the table, the previoMS 
question, to postpone, to refer, or to amend; 
and they shall have precedence in the order in 
which they are here arranged. 

Rule 2.— When a member intends to speak 
on a question, he shall rise in his place, and 
respectfully address his remarks to the President, 
confine himself to the question, and avoid per- 
sonality. Should more than one member rise to 
speak at the same time the President shall de- 
termine who is entitled to the floor. 

Rule 3. — Every member shall have the privi- 
lege of speaking three times on any question 
under consideration, but not oftener, unless by 
the consent of the Society (determined by vote) ; 
and no member shall speak more than once, until 
every member wishing to speak shall have spoken. 

Rule 4. — The President, while presiding, 
shall state every question coming before the 
Society ; and immediately before putting it to 
vote shall ask : ' 'Are you ready for the ques- 
tion?" Should no member rise to speak, he 
shall rise to put the question ; and after he has 
risen no member shall speak upon it, unless by 
permission of the Society. 

Rule 5. — The affirmative ana negative of the i 
question having been both put and answered, the 11 
President declares the number of legal votes cast, 
and whether th^ afftrmative or negative have it, 



HOW TO DRAFT CONSTITUTION AND BY-LAWS. 



Uh 



RuJ^E 6. — All questions, unless otherwise fixed 
by law, shall be decided by a majority of votes. 

Rule 7. — After any question, except one of 
indefinite postponement, has been decided, any 
member may move a reconsideration thereof, if 
done in two weeks after the decision. A motion 
for reconsideration the second time, of the same 
question, shall not be in order at any time. 

Rule 8. — Any two members may call for a 
division of a question, when the same will admit 
of it. 

Rule 9. — The President, or any member, 
may call a member to order while speaking, 
when the debate must be suspended, and the 
member take his seat until the question of order 
is decided. 

Rule 10. — The President shall preserve order 
and decorum ; may speak to points of order in 
preference to other members ; and shall decide 
all questions of order, subject to an appeal to the 
Society by any member, on which appeal no 
person shall speak but the President and the 
member called to order. 

Rule ii. — No motioii or proposition on a 
subject different from that under consideration 
shall be admitted under color of an amendment. 

Rule 12. — No addition, alteration, or amend- 
ment to the Constitution, By-Laws, etc., shall 
be acted upon, except in accordance with the 
Constitution. 

Rule 13. — No nomination shall be considered 
as made until seconded. 

Rule 14. — The President shall sign all pro- 
ceedings of the meetings. 

Rule 15. — No member shall vote by proxy. 

Rule 16. — No motion s^^-all be withdrawn by 
the mover unless the second withdraw his second. 

Rule 17. — No extract from any book shall be 
read consuming more than five minutes. 

Rule 18. — No motion for adjournment shall 
be in order-until after nine o'clock. « 

Rule 19. — Every motion shall be reduced to 
writing, should the officers of the society desire it. 

Rule 20. — ^An amendment to an amendment 
js in order, but not to amend an amendment to 
im amendment of a main question. 



Rule 21, — The previous question shall be pal 
in this form, if seconded by a majority of the 
members present : ' ' Shall the main question be 
put ?' ' If decided in the affirmative, the main 
question is to be put immediately, and all further 
debate or amendment must be suspended. 

Rule 22. — Members not voting shall be con- 
sidered as voing in the ai^rmative, unl-^ss 
excused by the Society. 

Rule 23. — Any member oft^ering a protest 
against any of the proceedings of this Society 
may have the same, if, in respectful language, 
entered in full upon the minutes. 

Rule 24. No subject laid on the table shall 
be taken up again on the same evening. 

Rule 2 5.^No motion shall be debatable 
until seconded. 

Rule 26. — = Points of order are debatable to 
the Society. 

Rule 27, — Appeals and motions to reconsider 
or adjourn are not debatable. 

Rule 28. — When a very important motion or 
amendment shall be made and seconded, the 
mover thereof may be called upon to reduce the 
same to writing, and hand it in at the table, 
from which it shall be read, open to the Society 
for debate. 

Rule 29. — The mover of a motion shall be at 
liberty to accept any amendment thereto ; but 
if an amendment be offered and not accepted, 
yet duly seconded, the Society shall pass upon it 
before voting upon the original motion. 

Rule 30. — Every officer, on leaving his office, 
shall give to his successor all papers, documents 
books, or money belonging to the Society. ' 

Rule 31. — No smoking, and no refreshmen .• 
except water, shall be allowed in the Society o 
hall. 

Rule 32. — When a motion to adjourn is cai 
ried, no member shall leave his '^eat until the; 
President has left his chair. 

Rule 33. — No alteration can be made in tnese 
rules of order without a four- fifth vote of the 
society, and two weeks' notice ; neither can 
they be suspended, but by a like vote, and then 
for the evening only. 



UG 



SUGGESTED SUBJECTS FOR DEBATE. 



1. ohould thi c be a Board of Arbitration 
appointed by tlie (rovernment for Settling Dis- 
putes between Employees and Employers? 

2. Is England ivising or Falling as a Nation? 
Note, — Compare the Elements of Modern 

rith the Elements of Ancient Prosperity. 

3. Has Nature or Education the Greater In- 
fluence in the Formation of Character ? 

4. From which does the Mind gain the more 
Knowledge, Reading or Observation ? 

5. Is the Character of Queen Elizabeth deserv- 
ing of our Admiration ? 

6. Is an Advocate Justified in Defending a 
Man whom he Knows to be Guilty of the Crime 
with which he is Charged ? 

7. Which does the most to Produce Crime- 
Poverty, Wealth, or Ignorance ? 

8. Is a Limited Monarchy, like that of Eng- 
land, the Best Form of Government ? 

9. Is not Private Virtue essentially requisite 
to Greatness of Public Character? 

TO. Is Eloquence a Gift of Nature, or may it 
bij Acquired ? 

11. Is Genius an Innate Capacity? 

12. Is a Rude or a Refined Age the More 
Favorable to the Production of Works of Irru-jigi- 
nation ? 

13. Is the Shakespearian the Augustan Age of 
English Literature ? 

14. Ought Pope to Rank in the First Class of 
Poets? 

15. Has the Introduction of Machinery been 
Generally Beneficial to Mankind ? 

16. Which Produce the Greater Happiness, 
the Pleasures of Hope or of Memory ? 

17. Is the Existence of Parties in the State 
^'avorable to the J^ublic Welfare? 

* 18. Is there any Ground for Believing in the 
Jltimate Perfection and Universal Happiness of 
the Human Race? 

19. Is Co-operation more Adapted lo Prom.ote 
the Virtue and Happiness of Mankind than Com- 
petition ? 

20. Was the Banishment of Napoleon to St. 
Helena a Justifiable Proceeding ? 

21. Ought Persons to be Excluded from the 



Civil Offices on Account of theii Religious 
Opinions ? 

22 Which Exercises the Greater Influence on 
the Civilization and Happiness of the Human 
Race, the Male or the Female Mind ? 

23. Which did the Most to Produce th? 
French Revolution, the Tyranny of the Govern- 
ment, the Excesses of the Higher Orders, or the 
Writings nf Voltaire, Montesquieu and Rous- 
seau? 

24. Which was the Greater Poet, Byron or 
Burns ? 

25. Is there Reasonable Ground for Believing 
that the Character of Richard the Third was not 
so Atrocious as is Generally Supposed? 

26. Does Happiness or Misery Preponderate 
in Life ? 

27. Should the Press be Totally Free? 

28- Do Modern Geological Discoveries Agree 
with Floly V\^rit ? 

29. Did Circumstances Justify the First French 
Revolution ? 

30. Could not Arbitration be Made a Substi- 
tute for War ? 

31. Which Character is the More to be 
Admired, that of Loyola or Luther? 

32. Are there Good Grounds for Apply in- 
the Term ' ' Dark ' ' to the Middle Ages ? 

33 „ Which was the Greater Poet, Chatterton 
or Cowper ? 

34. Are Public or Private Schools to be Pre 
f erred ? 

35. Is the System of Education Pursued at 
our Universities in Accordance with the Require- 
ments of the Age ? 

36. Which is the More Healthful ExercTSr, 
Bicycle Riding or Walking? 

37. Does the Game of Foot-Ball Produce 
more Evil than Beneficial Effects ? 

38. Would the Free and Unlimited Coinage (,'f 
both Silver and Gold be better than the Single 
Gold Standard in America ? 

39. Should Women be Granted the Right to 
Vote on all State and National Questions? 

40. Would Absolute Prohibition be a Benefit 
to the Country? 



TABLEAUX. 



447 



TABLEAUX FOR PUBLIC ENTERTAINMENTS. 



JOAN OF ARC AT THE STAKE. 

CHARACTER AND COSTUME. 
Maiden. — Loose, white robe, wing-like sleeves, dis- 
playing arm ; hair long, loose, and flowing over 
shoulders. 

THE TABLEAU. 

A large post in centre of stage, around 
which are piled fagots. Fastened to the post 
by means of a chain around the waist stands 
the maiden, with eyes cast upward, and the 
whole attitude that of exaltation. A strong 
red light suddenly thrown upon the lower 
part of the picture, from both sides, will pro- 
duce the effect of ignited wood. 

Music, if any, triumphant. 

WINTER IN THE LAP OF SPRING. 

CHARACTERS AND COSTUMES. 

Winter, — Black, loose dress to the feet, fur cap, 
white wig, and long white beard ; dress flecked with 
bits of cotton, to represent snow ; face full and florid. 
The part may be taken by a lady. 

Spring — Trailing loose dress of white, sleeves 
draped so as to show arm to elbow; scarf and sash 
of pink; long, flowing, yellow hair; sprays of roses 
and other flowers gracefully fastened on the dress ; 
wealth of flowers on the head. 

THE TABLEAU. 

Spring is seated on a chair, over which r..ay 
be thrown a covering of white or pink, upon 
which are scattered profusely sprays of flowers. 
She holds at her side a golden sceptre. 

Winter is seated in the lap of Spring holding 
« xtended in his right hand a sceptre of black. 

THERE'S NO ROSE WITHOUT A THORN. 

The scene is a parlor, — Standing in the 
foreground is a young girl, simply dressed. 
In her left hand she has a rose, and holding 
out her right hand shows to her companion 
the scratches made by the thorns (a. little 
carmine paint, put on with a fine camel's-hair 
pencil, makes ver}^ painless scratches.) Her 
companion, a young man dressed as a me- 



chanic's apprentice (a carpenter's, butcher's, 
shoemaker's or any other trade), is, with a 
look of sympathy, raising the wounded hand 
to his lips. Behind the young man stands his 
employer, with an expression of rage, raising 
a rope about to strike the apprentice. He i.^ 
not perceived by either of the young people. 
In the background is a child, with a 
look of great glee, putting its fingers into 
a jar, marked jam, while the mother, behind 
the child, is raising her hand to box its ears. 

A NUN AT HER DEVOTIONS. 

It hardly needs description. A back- 
ground of dark brown gauze, very faintly 
lighted at the upper right-hand corner; a 
dress of black serge or stuff, with black veil 
and white coif; a crucifix and rosary — these 
are the very simple materials needed. Let 
the light fall from the left-hand upper corner 
in front. Choose your nun for the beauty 
of her eyes, the regularity and refinement of 
feature, and the elegance of her hands. 

TABLEAU WITH RECITALS. 

Characters, 

Poet. — A young man with long hair and wide linen 

collar turned down over coat collar. 

Statue. — Personated by a young woman in wfiite, 

with arms bare. 

( The Poet speaks. ) 

(f) I HOU boldest me, thou holdest me, 
< I O marble presence, cold and fair . 

-^ I cannot draw my feet past thee 
Within thy niche above the stair. 

I found thee in a mossy cave — 

The entrance to a buried shrine ; 
The rocks around a shudder gave 

As thence I bore my prize divine. 

What master wrought thee long ago-— 
Who but Pygmalion's scholar apt^ 

The rose upon thy cheek of snow 
Ofttimes he saw in vision rapt 



448 



<^i 



TABLEAUX. 



The day upspringing in thine eye 

He fancied now, and now it seemed 
A hovering smile, a gradual sigh. 

Thy lips from silence dead redeemed ; 
But, dying ere the moment ripe 

When thou should'st gather vital fire, 
He left thee, a half-conscious type 

Of Love and Love's unvoiced desire. 
Thou holdest me, thou holdest me, 

marble presence, cold and fair ! 
Now let thy .prisoned soul be free, 

Thy breast its long-sealed fate declare * 
(^The Statue speaks.') 
Thou troublest me, thou troublest me ! 

A thousand years unused to speech, 
Why should the charm dissolve for thee, 

Or why to thee my secret teach ? 
Not Paros, nor Pentelicus, 

E'er held me in its quarried hill ; 
Nor master's chisel carved me thus. 

With lofty thought and patient skill. 
Ah, surely, not Pygmalion's hand 

Unprisoned me, through loving art — 
1, who in marble moveless stand. 

Once held quick veins and pulsing heart : 
Love, changed to hate, wrought this cold change 

1 froze beneath his bitter eye ; 

Love, changed to Hate — transformer strange — ■ 

Forbade me live, forbade me die \ 
Thou troublest me, thou troublest me ; 

No further question ; go thy way ! 
He, only, who could set me free. 

Hath long since crumbled back to clay ! 
Thy «:nul in peace if thou would 'st save. 

And give forgetfulness to mine. 
Restore me to that mossy cave, 

The entrance to a buried shrine ! 

Edith M. Thomas. 

CINDERELLA'5 SLIPPER. 

(This beautiful tableau may be represented in 
three or four scenes, with fine dress effect.) 

SCENE I. 

Cinderella meanly clad, the sisters and Prince in 
costliest attire One of the sisters is eagerly 
b^nt on forcing her foot into the slipper. 



A very large shoe, which she has just va- 
cated, is on the floor beside her. The other, 
her face and attitude showing keenest dis- 
appointment, has just put on her shoe. 
These shoes, while nicely made, should be 
the largest that can be had. The slipper mav 
be of white satin, small and handsome. 

SCENE II. 

Cinderella, having begged permission to 
try on the slipper, has just seated herself, 
withdrawn her shoe and placed a dainty foot 
on the cushion beside the slipper. The sis- 
ters give her a scornful and reproachful look. 

SCENE III. 

Cinderella, having put on the slipper, h&s 
just drawn from her pocket its mate. The 
sisters, bewildered and dumfounded, have 
thrown themselves at her feet. This scene 
makes a fitting conclusion to the perform- 
ance, and the next two scenes should not be 
attempted unless the appliances are at hand to 
make Cinderella imagination's richest queen. 

SCENE IV. 

The fairy has touched her clothes with the 
magic wand, and Cinderella has become a 
being of marvelous beauty. Her gorgeous 
splendor dazzles the eyes of the Prince. She 
helps her sisters to their feet, and shows, as 
before, no resentment for past insult. 

SCENE v. 

Cinderella and the Prince, arm in arm, pre- 
pare to leave the stage, followed by the sisters. 

LISTENERS HEAR NO GOOD OF 
THEMSELVES. 

The scene is a parlor. — In the foreground 
are two young girls, one of whom holds a minia- 
ture out to the other, who puts it aside, with an 
expression of angry contempt. The first girl 
is laughing heartily, and pointing her finger at 
the second, as if teasing her about the picture. 

Peeping out from behind a window-curtain 
is a young man, who, with an expression r ( 
perfect rage, is shaking his fist at the ladic.^. 



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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



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